Weeping Angel
by impossibleleaf
Summary: The fiasco at the Department of Mysteries sent Harry to the late 19th century. Stuck in this farce of home, who can he really rely on? And should he really trust this Albus Dumbledore? Harry swore he was going to go back to 1996 and save his friends and everybody in his time whose existence is being threatened. But how? At what price? And what will be left of him in the end? HP/AD
1. Back in Time

_The fiasco at the Department of Mysteries had many consequences. One accident with a time-turner sent Harry to a faraway past. But who can really he rely on in this farce of home? And should he really trust Albus Dumbledore to have his best interests at heart?_  
 _Harry was going to go back to his time. Back to 1996. He was going to go back to the Department of Mysteries. He was going to save his friends, and everybody in his time whose existence is being threatened._  
 _But how? At what price?_  
 _And what will be left of him in the end? HP/OC, AD/GG, AD/HP, slow burn_

* * *

When Harry opened his eyes, he was in pain.

In pain, and exhausted. Which shouldn't be surprising considering that-

He flinched and held the back of his head.

 _The Death Eater Hermione had just struck dumb made a sudden slashing movement with his wand; a streak of what looked like purple flame passed right across Hermione's chest. She gave a tiny 'Oh!' as though of surprise and crumpled on to the floor, where she lay motionless._

Harry startled and hurriedly got up.

"Hermione!" he exclaimed. "Hermione! Neville!"

Nobody answered.

His friends, he tried to chase the images to focus on the present. His friends were in danger. His friend who had come with him at the Ministry of Magic because he had been so _stupid_. He had to do _something_.

But, as he hurriedly looked around, Harry saw nobody. Neither friend nor foe. Only a room full of strange artefacts Harry had never seen before.

And, Harry looked behind him, the wardrobe had changed. What used to be filled with clocks, and hourglasses was now full of strange artefacts and unidentified potions of any colour. From the classic green to one the colour of rainbow.

Harry took a few steps around, lost. Maybe he had been moved, he thought. Or maybe he has somehow entered that room Sirius' gift hadn't managed to unlock. _Maybe_ some spell had made him lose his most recent memories.

But this was still the Department of Mysteries, Harry thought as he reached for the door, trying to be silent. Meaning that the Death Eaters were still after his friends. And maybe Malfoy got his hands on the prophecy and Harry couldn't let him bring it to Voldemort.

But, despite the Death Eaters attacking them, there was no trace of any fighting. In fact, the room where Ron had been attacked by the brains seemed to be in perfect condition and there was no Ron in sight.

There was something strange about this room though, but Harry couldn't say what. And, in every room he entered, that feeling in the pit of his stomach only grew stronger.

It was with something akin to dread that Harry finally left the utterly empty Department of Mysteries.

Maybe the fighting has moved, Harry desperately thought. Maybe his friends had tried to run away and the Death Eaters had followed them in the empty Ministry-

Harry stopped and stared at the scene in front of him.

The Ministry of magic's entrance wasn't empty. Not by a long shot. In fact, it was full of wizards and witches in bright robes walking around as if nothing of great importance was happening.

Harry tried to control his breathings. If so many people hadn't heard the commotion, or seen his friends running away, then how long has he been unconscious? And where were his friends? Did the Death Eaters capture them and-

A witch in forest green robes started walking in his direction. Harry hurriedly took the badge off his robe, hid his scar behind his hair and tried to look as if he hadn't just broken into the Ministry of magic itself.

"Is there a problem?" She frowned.

"No, no." He tried to avoid her eyes and searched for a way out. Maybe if he went back to Grimmauld Place… If he could warn the Order… "I was just… we had to go somewhere and… and now I've lost them so-"

The witch grimaced in sympathy. "Let me guess, you missed the portkey for the Hogwarts Express."

Harry abruptly turned his head and looked at the witch. "Th-The Hogwarts Express."

"It happened to me as well when I was your age." She pointed at the fireplace behind him and went to take a pinch of floo powder she threw it in the fireplace. "I'm afraid this kind of incident isn't as rare as many believe. No worry though." She turned to him and smiled. "Just say Hogwarts' Visitor Entrance and nobody will notice."

Harry nodded, mind racing.

"Where are your luggage?"

Harry closed his eyes and deeply inhaled. "It's complicated."

So that was what happened, he thought as his mind quickly connected the dots. The clocks and hourglasses had been time-turners. Some of them must have fallen on him had done _something._ And now, he had time travelled.

"I'll explain my problem to the Headmaster. It's- complicated. Very-"

 _Very_ complicated, Harry mentally finished as he shakily pinched his nose. He tried to control his breathings and tried to see if these Occlumency lessons would finally be of some use because he was about to lose it. "Thank you, Ma'am."

He wanted to ask her the date but as he opened his mouth, he suddenly remembered one very important rule the Dursleys had taught him.

 _Don't ask questions_.

Asking questions showed you didn't know something. It was like revealing a weakness anybody would be able to exploit. And he was in the Ministry of magic, where he definitely shouldn't be and anybody would be far too happy to use that against him.

He looked around, half praying to see a newspaper. Something, _anything_ , a clue to tell him when he was but today wasn't his day.

In more ways than one.

Hopefully, he hadn't time-travelled too far in the past he desperately thought as the green flames engulfed him.

* * *

When Harry fell down, he quickly got up, left the fireplace and ran to Professor Dumbledore's office.

Whatever happened, he desperately thought, whenever he ended up going, the old wizard would certainly know what to do. Maybe he would even find a way to help the DA members still in the Department of Mysteries. Maybe they would manage to stop Mr. Weasley from getting attacked in the first place.

Maybe he came back even further and they would save Cedric as well. Or stop Voldemort from coming back.

He finally reached the gargoyle and said the name of the first sweet in his mind. When the gargoyle didn't move, he tried again.

And again.

And again.

He only stopped trying when a man in deep blue robes asked him: "What, in Merlin's name, are you doing here?"

"Cadburry- Oh." His eyes widened. "W-Well, I'm- I mean… I need to talk to the Headmaster."

"Sir."

"Sir," he amended. "It's important. It's-it's important and it cannot wait."

The wizard sighed but turned to the gargoyle. "Sirius."

Harry abruptly turned his head while the staircase appeared.

"He's not here. And what is so urgent you couldn't even wait for the end of the Welcoming Feast? I'm not even _sure_ the Hogwarts Express has arrived."

Harry swallowed as he finally entered the office. The wizard stood in front of the desk in the middle of the room and crossed his arms.

"W-Well... S-Sir. I just wanted to…"

Dozens of possibilities came to him. Telling him he was a time-traveller, begging him to call Professor Dumbledore _immediately_ , breaking down in tears in front of him.

Breaking everything in that bloody office and screaming against the world.

"I'm not a student here," he slowly began. "I've been abroad most of my life and, as a result, I've learned whatever I could, wherever I could," he quickly invented. "And now that I'm back, I was wondering if Hogwarts would be kind enough to accept me." He tried to control his breathings. "I know that this is unusual but I'm motivated and-"

"Which year?"

Harry blinked but the man stayed impassive. "F-Fifth Year, sir."

He looked thoughtful. "You want to prepare your Ordinary Wizarding Levels I presume." Harry quickly nodded and he hummed. "That should be doable."

Harry was taken aback. "Really?"

He nodded in confirmation. "Hogwarts is a school. It would be queer for a school to refuse a student willing to learn. You should have come sooner or sent me an owl but I suppose this is a fairly recent decision."

" _Very_ recent," Harry confirmed.

"What bothers me the most is that I have no idea if you actually have the level to sit with our Fifth Year students. You said you studied abroad. Where exactly?"

"I-I've been there and there," he fibbed. "I don't actually _have_ records of school. Or any money really," he mumbled the words under his breath. Because, if he was right, he had no vault waiting for him. He hadn't taken his key anyway.

The wizard closed in eyes and grimaced.

Harry panicked. He hadn't meant for him to hear that. "Let me show you what I can do," he hurried.

It didn't matter in that moment when he was. Harry knew he had to go to home. And Hogwarts was home. It didn't matter he had no idea how he was going to do it, he had to convince the wizard in front of him he had to enrol him. He might have said it was possible but nothing was set in stone for now. And Harry was perfectly aware he had to look shady. Anything could make him change his mind if he didn't play his cards right.

One wrong move, and everything was over before it could have begun.

"One spell," he told the impassive man. "Just one spell and if you're not satisfied, I will stop bothering you."

The wizard raised an eyebrow. "One spell really." His lips twitched. "You would play your place in Hogwarts and a scholarship with _one single_ spell?" Seeing Harry nodding he smiled. "Alright then, I'm starting to get an idea where you'll be sorted if you win your wager. One spell only. I have to warn you however, I'm a difficult wizard to impress."

Harry sharply nodded and took his wand.

The man crossed his fingers. "Choose wisely."

There wasn't any choice, Harry thought as he looked behind. Either he succeeded or it was over. He couldn't afford hesitating, playing down any skill he had, being subtle. He was lost and scared and he had nothing but his wand with him.

He raised his holly wand.

And if his wand was failing him, then all was lost.

Harry thought of Ron and Hermione. "Expecto Patronum."

The silver stag erupted from the end his wand, brighter than ever, and Harry couldn't stop a smile. Prongs looked around and, seeing as he didn't have enough place to canter, bowed.

The wizard was gobsmacked. "Y-You win," he weakly said. He stared at the stag for another minute and slowly started to chuckle. "I have to say, your patronus is magnificent."

"Thank you, sir." Harry pocketed his wand as the stag vanished.

The older man summoned the Sorting Hat. "The Welcoming Feast begins in half an hour," he informed. "But I suppose you wouldn't want some unwanted attention, being the only fifteen –or is it sixteen?- years old in the middle of eleven years old children."

"That's very nice of you, sir." Harry took the Sorting Hat in his hands and put it over his head.

When the Hat fell over his eyes, Harry wondered what kind of giant Godric Gryffindor had been.

"Yes, yes," the Sorting Hat murmured. "Older students are always more complicated."

"Can he hear us?" Harry thought.

"Armando? No, I only shout the House I pick. I can see a lot of courage. Lots of courage, yes. You're also very loyal and you do not have a bad mind. And, my goodness yes, you're quite resourceful. Very resourceful indeed."

"Gryffindor." Harry closed his eyes. "Send me to Gryffindor."

"Gryffindor, eh? Not a bad choice at all. A very fine choice indeed but, really, you could also go to Slytherin."

" _Please_."

"Very well then. GRYFFINFOR!"

Harry removed the Sorting Hat and handed it to the wizard.

"Welcome to Hogwarts." He took a fob watch from his pocket. "And it seems now that I must leave with the Sorting Hat. My colleagues are probably waiting for us. You may take part of the Welcoming Feast obviously, Gryffindor's table is the one on the far right. I want you however to come back immediately afterwards, for I do believe there are a few details we need to finalize."

Harry sharply nodded and did as he was told.

* * *

When Harry came back to the Headmaster's office after the Welcoming Feast, Harry still hadn't managed to pinpoint when exactly he had arrived.

Oh, he had tried. He's heard the names being called but part of him hadn't managed to pay attention to his surroundings and nobody had bothered talking to him. He had tried to see the teachers on the Professor's table, but, having decided not to draw attention, he had stayed near the entrance and hadn't managed to take a good look at their face.

He's however managed to grasp the name of the wizard he had met.

Armando Dippet.

If his memory was correct, that was Professor Dumbledore's predecessor. In fact, for having seen the man in Tom Riddle's diary, Harry would have thought he would have recognized him.

Then again, he had been more focused on Tom Riddle himself.

Harry sighed and gave the password to the gargoyle.

So roughly fifty years in the past. That was bad but once Harry found Professor Dumbledore, things would start looking up.

"Enter," the voice on the other side of the door said and Harry did as he was told.

Professor Dippet was sitting in the Headmaster's armchair. He nodded. "Perfect. Just on time."

Harry tried not to grimly smile.

"I'm waiting for somebody else but I suppose we can take care of the paperwork in the meantime. What optional classes would you like to take?"

"Well… I'd like to take Care of Magical Creatures." Harry hesitated as the man nodded. "Care of Magical Creatures and… and Divination."

"Of course you do," Professor Dippet murmured as he wrote that down with a purple quill. "Everybody does these days. Alright then, now I need you to sign these papers. That reminds me," he realized as Harry signed them. "I haven't actually asked for your-"

Somebody knocked.

"That must be him." Professor Dippet nodded. "Enter!"

A young man entered the room.

"My apologies, Professor," the boy said. "A few First Years had several questions about how the schoolyear works here."

"No, no, I understand. I've been a Prefect too, back in the days. I'm sure you're taking your duties as seriously as I have."

The first thing Harry noticed about him was his auburn hair.

"This is partly why I've asked you to come. This young man here has decided to join us this year. He will be in your year and in your house."

At these words the prefect turned his head.

The second thing was these piercing and all too familiar blue eyes.

"I have no doubt that you will welcome him in our school the way I know only you can, Mister Dumbledore."

* * *

 _So this fic began as a challenge. A challenge to create a different kind of time travel story. After all, if we're being honest between ourselves, Harry always seems to go back to the same eras, be paired with the same characters and the formula rarely changes._

 _Well, let's add some diversity and try to create something new. And, sorry Harry, the best time travel stories are those happening a century in the past._

 _You should have paid more attention in history anyway._


	2. Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore

When Albus Dumbledore had been asked to go to the Headmaster's office after the Welcoming Feast, he had to admit he had been quite curious.

As far as he knew, he hadn't done anything warranting that. Not yet anyway.

It _did_ occur to him on his way that, perhaps this had nothing to do with him and that, maybe, it had more to do with the badge he now had on his robe. So, quite naturally, he had spent the rest of his walk to the seventh floor pondering what it could _possibly_ be.

It seemed that Option 3, a transfer student, was the correct answer.

Albus turned his head and looked at the wizard sitting in front of the Deputy Headmaster. Said man was blankly looking at him.

Albus extended his hand and genially smiled. "How do you do? My name is Albus Dumbledore. Welcome to Hogwarts."

The brunette stared at the hand in front of him.

After a few tense seconds, he took his hand and weakly shook it.

"D-Dumbledore. As-as in… _that_ Dumbledore?"

"So you've heard of him." Professor Dippet seemed pleased. "What was it, his essay on the nature of magic or his more recent work concerning the vanishing charm? Excellent work on that by the way."

"Thank you, sir."

"I have to say, it's not everyday that somebody as young as you are gets his work published on _Transfiguration Today_. You can be proud of yourself."

Albus accepted the praise with a nod. Still, considering his new housemate's white face, he doubted that was how this wizard has heard of the Dumbledore name. In fact, it was quite clear to him how he had.

Albus inwardly sighed. Would he ever leave his father's shadow or was he condemned to always be nothing but the son of that Azkaban's prisoner?

"If you have heard of me, I'm afraid that I haven't quite caught your name."

"I'm afraid I haven't either." Professor Dippet checked the papers in front of him. "Let's see… Harry Potter, is that correct?" he asked as 'Harry Potter' startled. "I should have known, you _do_ look like a Potter."

"D-Do I?" he weakly wondered.

The older man nodded. "Now, I will not keep you here longer than necessary. Mister Potter, if you have any question, I'm sure your housemate will be delighted to answer them. Mister Dumbledore, I leave Mister Potter in your capable hands. I'm sure the two of you will get along splendidly."

Albus wished he could share Professor Dippet's optimism. That in less than a month his new classmate would be a friend the same way his other housemates have become, and that he'd feel quite at home here.

Unfortunately, the boy's utterly empty eyes were telling a completely different story.

* * *

It took several minutes for Harry to recover. By the time Harry had come back to his sense, he was following the red-haired like some lost puppy in Gryffindor's tower.

The prefect was explaining that, contrary to popular beliefs, Hogwarts staircases did have a pattern but Harry wasn't listening to him _at all_. In fact, Albus Dumbledore could have told him 'nitwit, oddment, blubber and tweak' to his face, he wasn't sure he would have reacted.

Alright, maybe he would have burst to tears.

"What day is it?" Harry finally interrupted the boy.

Albus Dumbledore blinked at the non sequitur. "Monday."

Harry painfully closed his eyes and looked down. "I hate Mondays," he whispered under his breath.

"I rather enjoy Mondays myself," Albus lightly said. "New week, new beginning."

The time traveller burst to laugh.

He could agree on beginnings, but _new_?

Albus frowned. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Yes. I'm just-just tired."

Actually, he felt like he was drowning. Sirius, the Department of Mysteries, the trap, his friends getting hurt, the time travel, _Dumbledore_. After everything, he got the distinct impression he would shatter in a million pieces if he wasn't careful.

"In that case, let me show you Gryffindor's dormitories. I suppose you came a long way."

"You can say that." His left eyebrow violently twitched. "Frankly, I'd like to sleep and not wake up for… decades. A-a century even."

"I do not recommend," he lightly said. "The new century would be a completely different world, or so I hope, and the workload unbearable. Forgive my curiosity but where do you come from if I may?"

But Harry was done. "It's a long story." He couldn't stop himself from yawning. "A-Ask me tomorrow?"

"I will," Albus promised. "I suppose I should warn you though. Our housemates rather enjoy new things." As they finally saw the Fat Lady, he went back to his explanations. "This woman here is the portrait protecting our quarters. To enter we need to give her a password. She takes her duty seriously so it is important that you do not forget it. At the moment, it is _Tempora mutantur._ "

The Fat Lady opened the door.

" _Et nos mutamur in illis_ but the second part is optional," he finished with a smile.

Harry ignored him and entered Gryffindor's Common Room.

"The boys' dormitories are on the ones on the lef-"

"Good night."

Harry walked to the stairs. He turned left. He opened the door and entered the Fifth Year's dormitories.

He fell on his four-posters bed and with a weary flick of his wand closed the curtains.

Finally, he took the pillow, put it over his head and screamed.

He had time-travelled. And not a few measly years back. Oh no, that would have been far too easy. A single look at _Albus Bloody Dumbledore_ was enough to know he was in deep shit.

He couldn't be older than fifteen. And Harry may have no idea how old the Headmaster actually was, he had the feeling Professor Dumbledore was a hundred years old.

 _Minimum_.

On the bright side, he weakly tried to console himself, he didn't need to look after him anymore. That had to count for something.

Right?

And he supposed he had travelled far enough he didn't need to worry about his utter lack of fake identity.

If he was being honest, he had been so focused on bullshitting his way into Hogwarts he hadn't considered he had signed the documents with his real name. Still, Potter was a rather common muggle name and Harry even more so, he tried to console himself. Like John Smith really, he weakly added. All he had to do was to add a few lies there and there and nobody would know any better.

Right?

Harry shakily put his hand over his mouth. He felt like he was going to throw up.

Honestly, he didn't quite know what he had been expecting. In the best case scenario, he supposed he would have hoped for Professor Dumbledore to fix everything with a flick of his wand. And if he couldn't, he would have told him not to worry too much, that he'd find a way for him to go home and here's the fakest fake identity ever, my dear boy. Now, put the Hat on and try not to change history too much while you go to class with Tom Riddle/your parents. Come on now, off you pop.

Except there was no Professor Dumbledore here, was there? There wouldn't _be_ a Professor Dumbledore until Harry was at minimum eighteen/twenty something. That red-haired _wasn't_ Professor Dumbledore. He was Albus Dumbledore, the bright student. Albus Dumbledore, the Fifth Year prefect.

Albus Dumbledore who didn't remotely look like Professor Dumbledore.

Except the eyes, he supposed.

Question was, could he tell Baby Dumbledore he was a time traveller?

Harry mentally berated himself. Of course he could! The fact that Professor Dumbledore was young didn't mean this wasn't the same man. And if Harry would have trusted a sixteen years old Hermione Granger to find a way out of this mess, it should go without saying he could do the same with Albus Dumbledore.

Harry suddenly regretted not telling him he was a time traveller as soon as the two of them had been alone but he had been too busy not losing it to think about the long term. Oh well, no use crying over spilled milk. He'd tell him tomorrow.

How was he going to convince him he actually was a time traveller and not some raving lunatic though?

* * *

Albus looked at the wizard's haggard face the next morning. "Couldn't sleep?"

"I had a lot in my mind."

He had turned the problem in his head over and over. How to approach the subject, how to convince the boy this wasn't some joke and very, very serious. How much he was allowed to say about the future, Harry's past. If he could, somehow, find a way to change history for the better. If he should.

"And now I have a headache."

Albus Dumbledore winced in sympathy. "It sometimes happens to me as well."

"And how do you deal with it?" Harry sighed and tiredly pinched his nose.

"Usually," he replied as they entered the Great Hall, "I try to avoid over-thinking to avoid such problem. If I can't find the answer immediately, I let the cauldron simmer." He sat in Gryffindor's table.

Harry followed and grabbed the first thing he saw out of reflex. "And what do you do when you're terrible at potion?"

"I'm afraid I am rather good at potion so I cannot answer you."

"Of course," he said as he summoned the pitch of pumpkin juice _._ "Silly me."

"We have potion this morning, in fact." The red-haired searched his pockets and retrieved a timetable. He took his wand, pointed at the parchment and gave the copy he's just made to Harry. "Potion and Transfiguration."

Harry, still on autopilot, thanked the wizard and glanced at the timetable. "How are the professors?"

"Professor O'Connor, that is the Transfiguration Mistress, is an excellent professor but a rather firm woman. I recommend not trying to cause disturbance in the classroom. Potion Master Prince is just as strict, but I suppose this is normal considering the subject he's teaching us." Harry sharply nodded. "As for the electives, I'm afraid I do not know which ones you picked."

"Oh." He closed his eyes. "Care of magical creatures and… and Divination."

" _Divination_?" His lips curled and Harry turned to him. "My apologies." The prefect tapped the timetable with his wand and new classes appeared. "This is just a very peculiar class."

Harry shrugged. Truth be told, he was terrible at divination and had only seen it as a joke.

But the lines of prophecies in the Department of Mysteries had made him realize that prophecies were actually a very big deal. And with him being mentioned in one...

"The… Knowing the future..." The prefect's eyes shined in amusement and Harry sighed. "I don't have the sight, I know that." Or maybe he _did_ , in a roundabout way. "But seers are real. I've seen it, and I want to understand."

"Of course," the prefect indulged.

"I suppose you didn't pick Divination."

"You suppose well. I chose Care of magical creatures, Runes and Arithmancy. I hope to pick Alchemy next year but, alas, there is only this option when demand is sufficient."

Harry took a sausage and blinked. "And how many students does that make?"

"Five. From what I gather, we're only four so far interested in this noble art."

He shrugged and started eating. "The year's just begun. Maybe one more student will suddenly realize they need to learn it."

He didn't notice the wizard pensively looking at him when he said, "I suppose you're right. And, of course, I haven't given up on convincing another student. "

* * *

The out-of-body experience he's been under ever since he had come here only got worse when, over two glasses of pumpkin juice, he managed to finally learn the date via the newspaper.

1896.

The second of September but what the hell. Harry was _literally_ a century in the past.

He obediently followed the Prefect to the dungeons for their first potion class, unable to even listen to the red-haired who was trying to show him the castle.

"You seem be to rather ill," Albus finally said as they reached the dungeons.

Harry shook his head and tried to bring himself back to reality. "Like I said, I'm tired. Don't worry though, I'm listening."

"It just wouldn't do you any good to get lost on your way to class."

"I won't."

"You did say you were not at ease with Potions earlier. What are the problems you have with the subject?"

Harry didn't even have to think about it. "The teacher."

"Well then," he brightly said, "Professor Prince will probably do wonder to you! I did say he is strict, but he is also excellent at the subject he is teaching."

"A good Potion Master is not necessarily a good teacher."

The prefect nodded and opened the door to the Potion classroom. "True, very true. It is just our luck we are blessed to be taught by a man who is both."

And, apparently, when the teacher wasn't breathing down his neck, Harry could be good at it. Oh, he hardly was a genius, but he _did_ sit his OWLs so he was a year ahead compared to the rest of the class.

Dumbledore, who had decided be his potion partner and yet had done nothing but observe him, seemed rather happy with their forgetfulness potion.

"Not how I would have done it, but it will work like a charm all the same."

Harry cleaned his hands with the towel and shrugged. "And how would you have done it?"

"You see, if you had turned the potion threes time clockwise instead of five times counter-clockwise, I suspect that-"

"Mister Dumbledore." Professor Prince, a man Harry couldn't help but feel like he should recognize him, painfully closed his eyes. "How many times have I told you not to play Potion Master with your classmates?"

"This year? I do believe this is the first time, sir."

"Five points from Gryffindor. You're the student here, not the teacher."

When the man left, Harry numbly looked at the innocent-looking wizard next to him.

* * *

When, two hours later, Harry and Albus Dumbledore both left Transfiguration, Harry couldn't stop himself from shaking his head.

"What's wrong?"

"My Transfiguration Professor would have kicked you out of class," he just said as they went for lunch.

Not even _Hermione_ would have dared to correct Professor McGonagall. She was the teacher and she was just the student. _And yet_ , by the end of this class, Harry had the distinct impression the role had been switched.

Oh, he had been unbelievably polite, but still.

The prefect frowned as they entered the Great Hall. "I fail to see what I did wrong. I just believe that the method of learning every aspect of what to transfigure is outdated and not very effective. In fact, I do think you vanished your mouse the way I think is best. It was remarkable if I say so myself."

Harry shook his head and couldn't stop a smile as he sat for lunch. "Good God, you're such a teacher."

"You think so?" Albus asked as he did the same.

"I know so," he laughed. "Have you always been like that?"

After learning during two bites of beef that, _yes_ , Albus Dumbledore's always tried to help his little brother with homework and his housemates with transfiguration, Harry checked his time table and noticed they were supposed to have Care of Magical Creatures and Charms.

He supposed it could have been worse. _Yes_ , Albus Dumbledore was a kid and he was a century in the past. Still, he hadn't been sent to the founders' era nor did he have to endure Tom Riddle.

After class, Harry would tell him he was a time traveller, he decided as they finally left the castle for class. He didn't know how he was going to convince him he wasn't barmy but he had to try anyway. He may be out of his depth, but it could hardly hurt to tell him the truth. It wasn't as if Albus Dumbledore was some wizard bent on world domination or somebody who wanted to enslave muggles after all.

Harry could do it. He could tell Dumbledore and survive there until he could go back home and save his friends. It certainly wasn't going to be easy, but he could do it. Everything was going to be fine.

Harry was so busy convincing himself he didn't notice what he was doing until it was too late.

* * *

Harry Potter was a queer wizard, Albus thought.

When he had left Professor Dippet the day before with the new student, he admitted he had been terribly curious. So, as the wizard had been rather unresponsive to his questions, he confessed he had tried to use legimency on him.

First he had gotten nothing. His head had been completely empty. Truly, this was an amazing occlumens he was facing. Still, as he hadn't been caught, he had pushed a bit further and had finally heard 'Not in Kansas anymore'. That and 'rebooting', whatever that meant.

Albus may have never been to America, he's heard enough tales from his mother who had spent her entire childhood there to get a good idea of who Harry Potter was.

As Professor Dippet had remarked, he _did_ look like a Potter, one of the Sacred Twenty-Nine. Still, considering where he was from, he was most certainly a half-blood like him. The wizard might try to deny his origins like many Americans of mixed breeding though. So it was better for Albus to play dumb and pretend he was going to believe whatever story he was going to give.

Now, his appearance, Albus continued his deduction as reading his muggle hero had taught him. Rather recent clothes. Very modern cut in fact. He'd have to wear Hogwarts' uniform but money definitely wasn't a problem for him.

Finally, the most peculiar physical attribute after his emerald eyes was the scar adorning his forehead.

Albus would need to take a closer look to confirm his suspicions, but he could swear he's felt magic radiating from it. Cursed scar, most certainly. He was terribly curious and wanted to how he got it but considering how the boy seemed to make a point in hiding it behind his hair, he seriously doubted he'd tell him if he asked.

Meaning he would have to find out by other means.

Albus turned his head and blinked when he saw the new student had stopped following him.

He was utterly still, he remarked. Shoulders tense, fist tightened, head looking down, if Albus didn't know better he'd say the man was carrying the weight of an entire world on his shoulders.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "Are you alright?"

Harry raised his head and Albus faced once more these unnerving empty eyes.

"I've just stepped on a butterfly."


	3. A Sound of Thunder

A long time ago, Hermione had tried explaining Harry and Ron after they've saved Sirius from the Dementor's kiss why they couldn't have captured Pettigrew.

Frankly, Harry hadn't bothered listening more than necessary. Still, glimpses of her explanation had stuck.

"Terrible things happen to those who mess with time," Hermione had concluded. "And worse, even the most minor act of a time traveller does can have devastating consequences. Like-like stepping on a butterfly!"

Ron hadn't helped bursting to laugh.

"This is serious!" she had said even though she hadn't been able to stop a smile herself. "The butterfly effect is a perfect example of the chaos theory. If the flutter of a butterfly's wings can cause a tornado at the other side of the world, you can the same way change human history with something as insignificant as stepping on the wrong insect if you've travelled too far."

Now that Harry had travelled 'too far', Harry wished he had paid more attention to his friend.

He has just stepped on a butterfly. What if that butterfly was supposed to bring two wizards together? What if these two wizards were meant to fall in love because of that? What if they were supposed to get married and have a son, who would have a son, who would have a-

Oh God, he's just killed Luna.

And Harry finally lost it.

* * *

Albus looked with growing alarm the new student falling to his knees and desperately waving his wand over the animal. "Hang on Luna!"

"Err..." Albus slowly began. "I think it's too late for-"

"You don't understand!" the boy exclaimed. "I've stepped on a butterfly!" He frantically waved the wand once more over the body of the insect. "Episkey! And if I kill this butterfly, then… then..." He casted the charm once more. "I need to save this butterfly! I- _I have to_!" The wizard was now close to a panic attack.

While Albus himself _did_ like butterflies -who didn't really?- he also thought the boy may be slightly overreacting.

Just a bit.

The butterfly's emerald wings weakly twiched.

"You're overpowering your spell," he finally decided to say as he knelt as well. "It _is_ a butterfly after all. And if you overpower a spell on such a tiny creature, it is as bad as doing nothing."

With a well practiced swich, Albus casted a basic healing charm. "That should do the trick." He nodded to himself and conjured a jar made of glass where he put it. "All he needs now is rest and he should be able to fly as if nothing has ever happened."

He hesitated and finally handed the jar to Harry, choosing to ignore his mortified face. "See? Everything is fine."

* * *

Harry spent the entire Care of Magical Creatures class praying for the ground to swallow him.

He had repeatedly told the prefect he wasn't actually insane on the way to class. And, although the red-haired had assured him that he knew he wasn't, Harry was certain the boy had been lying through his teeth.

What was his plan again? Telling Dumbledore he was a time-traveller and convincing him he wasn't barmy?

He couldn't even look at him in the eyes now. And frankly, there was something terribly wrong in the world when _Albus Dumbledore_ was the one questionning your sanity instead of the other way around.

Harry morosely looked at the green butterfly still recovering in the jar on his way to Charm.

As soon as it was healed he would release it and pretend this moment has _never_ happened.

To think that twenty-four hours ago, Harry had been reviewing History of magic with Ron for their OWLs and Hermione after quizzing them one final time had decreeted only a miracle would save them from getting a D. To think that, twenty-four hours ago, Ron had shrugged and said it wasn't as if it mattered anymore what happened a long time ago. After all, what was done was done, wasn't it?

And now, Harry was freaking out over butterflies because he was a century in the past and he frankly had no idea what was supposed to happen.

He knew that he wouldn't be in this mess if he had listened to Hermione and just not let his 'saving people thing' get the better of him. He had been rash, he had thought he knew better than everybody and that he didn't need to bother with occlumency. And so, because of him, they had all walked right into Voldemort's trap.

Harry sighed, magically shrank the jar and pocketed it.

And now, not only was he stuck a century in the past but any insignifiant act could spell doom to his present. Was a butterfly able to cause a tornado at the other side of the world or change human history as Hermione had claimed? He didn't know, but he certainly couldn't risk it. And the more time he was going to spend there, the worse it was going to be because he was bound to create other 'butterfly effects'. Whether he liked it or not.

And to top it all, even if Harry could _somehow_ go home right now, he had to find a way to save his friends stuck in the Department of Mysteries first. Ron who had been attacked by the brains, Hermione who got hit by this curse, Ginny, Luna, even Neville still fighting the Death Eaters. There was no point for him to go back to the future if his friends were dying and Harry couldn't save them. That was the _one_ thing he had to do. He had to make sure they were going to be fine, everything else came second.

Harry sighed and opened the door to the Charm classroom.

If Harry wanted to be sure his friends would be saved, he needed to tell Dumbledore that on the 18th of June 1996 he would have to come and rescue them in the Department of Mysteries.

But after his freakout over _a bloody butterfly_ , how was he going to convince him he wasn't some raving lunatic? Seriously, at best, he had to look like Luna now. In fact, the story he was about to tell him could come straight from the _Quibbler_.

Harry looked around and spotted the red-haired. With a sigh, he walked in the front of the class, choosing to ignore once more the other students' curious look.

"Sorry about… you know," Harry said again as he sat next to Albus who had tactfully left him alone during Care of Magical Creatures. "I was… I've had a harsh week. I don't know what came over me."

"Like I said, it's alright. We all have bad days." Albus was reading a potion book and taking notes. He hesitated. "And if that may reassure you, I've seen worse."

Somehow, Harry doubted it.

The Charm Professor was Professor Dippet and it seemed that the wizard was now convinced he was some kind of genius on the level of Dumbledore if his behaviour toward him was any indication.

"Professor Dippet is a hard wizard to impress," Albus remarked once the wizard had left their side as he started casting the Colour Change charm on his animal. Said animal suddenly was multicoloured. "You must have done something quite remarkable for him to take such a liking to you."

Harry shrugged. "I'm good at Defense." He looked at his rat and grimaced when he remembered he had confused the colouring charm with the growth charm for his OWL examination.

He wondered what kind of grade he was going to receive. He also wondered _when_ he was going to receive the results. Because, from his point of view, it might take a century.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts?" Albus leant on his chair and looked at him. "Could it be that you're part of a duelling circuit? I admit I haven't paid much attention lately with that essay for _Transfiguration Today_."

Harry shook his head and the red-haired raised his eyebrows as Harry coloured his own rat yellow.

"Then I suppose," Albus slowly continued, "that you were part of some kind of tournament."

 _From far away, above his head, he heard a high, cold voice say, "Kill the spare._ "

 _A swishing noise and a second voice, which screeched the words to the night: "Avada Kedavra!_ "

Harry grimaced and mentally tried to chase the image of Cedric's cold body. "How did you do that?" He pointed at Albus' multicoloured rat, choosing not to answer. "I thought you could only pick one colour."

Albus didn't comment on him changing subjects even though the look in his eyes showed him he had noticed what Harry was doing. "Technically true," he humoured him. "But what is a colour to begin with?"

And while Albus started explaining that with the right disposition rainbow was a valid and rather lovely colour, Harry wondered if they could somehow manage to save Cedric as well.

Unfortunately, if Harry wasn't allowed to kill butterflies which were meant to live, he had the distinct feeling Hermione would tell him that he also wasn't allowed to save those who were meant to die.

* * *

Albus had spent enough time helping his mother taking care of his sister to know that, most of the time, freaking out over the smallest things was just a defense mechanism for a mind at war with something far more insidious. As she had explained, his sister hadn't _actually_ hurt him because he had broken her favourite teacup and decided to cast the mending charm on it. It was merely the excuse her mind had used to release her stress.

He couldn't see why stepping over a butterfly would be the tipping point for a freak-out though. It should have been insignificient. After all, what harm could a butterfly, or killing one, cause? What connection could the wizard have made for him to react the way he had?

Albus mused the question for a moment but ultimately came empty-handed.

And there was this matter of tournaments. Looking at his avoidance on the subject, it was definitely a sensible topic. In fact, he hadn't said another word for the rest of the class, so something terrible must have happened.

But Albus hadn't heard of any tournament turning sour recently.

When the new student began talking again after dinner, he decided to try finding out where he came from once more.

"I admit I have no idea in which school you were taught before coming to Hogwarts."

He had read enough to know each school had a specific way to teach magic. Generally, you could recognize a student from Beauxbatons from a student from Dumstrang rather easily when you knew where to look. But, the style might look like Hogwarts', there was a je-ne-sais-quoi telling him there was more to that.

"Could it be that you were home-schooled before?"

"W-well no… It's just..." Harry hesitated. "I'm a traveller."

"A traveller really," Albus said as they walked back to the Common Room after dinner. He couldn't stop a giddy smile at the idea this could possibly be true. "Have you travelled a lot?"

"I… Not really. But I've travelled far."

"Really?"

" _Very_ far." The new student hesitated. "So far you probably won't believe me."

Oh, that was bound to be good… "I promise to keep an open mind," he lightly told him.

The new student grimaced as the Fat Lady opened the door.

"Well then, I'm actually a ti-"

"You're late," the student at the other side of the door accused.

Harry turned his head and startled when he saw the welcoming committee.

"You _promised_ ," another First Year added.

Albus grimaced and checked his watch. They were right unfortunately, he had spent far too much time on the dessert.

"I'm terribly sorry. It seems that I spent more time talking with Harry –you don't mind if I call you Harry?- than I anticipated."

Now that he was thinking about it, he hadn't _actually_ introduced Harry to the rest of their classmates.

Or explained to him the house system.

Or even asked him where his trunk was and if he needed him to ask their Head of House to let him spend an afternoon in Diagon Alley in case said trunk was stolen.

He'd do that tomorrow, he decided. First Years first.

"But no worry. I haven't forgotten you," he told the First Years he had promised to help with their homework the day before. Turning to the Fifth Year he regretelly said, "I am afraid that duty calls. Still, if you need me to explain anything regarding the school or Gryffindor house, do not hesitate to ask."

The green-eyed looked like he wanted to tell him something. For a second, he even thought he was going to tell him what seemed to be on his mind. Maybe that would even be related to that incident with the butterfly earlier.

But if the man first hesitated, he ultimately swallowed and sharply nodded.

Whatever this was, Albus hoped this wasn't too important.


	4. Past and Future

Apparently, Albus Dumbledore, Prefect extraordinaire, had promised the First Years he would help them with their homework the first few weeks before being called to the Headmaster's office. And, if Harry was reading the situation correctly, he had actually forgotten he had told them to wait for him.

This kind of incident wasn't actually that rare, as Harry learned from a Sixth Year girl. Not forgetting students, he had only been prefect for two days after all, but there were so many things in his mind all the time Albus was bound to forget one or two if something new and shiny suddenly appeared and caught his attention.

Harry guessed that meant _he_ was the 'something new and shiny'.

"Generally, remind him he has promised something," she finished. "He _does_ keep his promises. He just… gets easily distracted."

And now that he was helping the First Years, Harry's window of opportunity of telling him he was a time traveller was closed until the next time the two of them were alone.

Harry sighed and sat on his favourite armchair. Or maybe the armchair that would one day become his favourite, he wasn't really sure.

If he ignored the people in the room, Harry could fool himself into believing he hadn't time-travelled and that either Ron or Hermione would come through the door after patrolling the school. Ron had confessed to him once he wasn't _actually_ doing it most of the time and was just enjoying a nice and long bath in the Prefect's bathroom. After all, they would be huge hypocrites if he were to give detentions to students out of bed.

That was of course before Harry told him Myrtle was _also_ haunting the Prefects' bathroom and that she liked ogling unsuspecting wizards.

Harry sighed. Not even twenty-four hours and he already missed his friends.

How long would it be before he could see them again? Even if the young Albus Dumbledore believed him and promised he was going to send him back to the future, he seriously doubted he'd manage this feat in a week.

When he came back and everybody was safe, Harry would swear to Hermione he would always listen to her from now on and _never_ be rash and jump to conclusions. He had definitely learned his lesson this time. He was going to do as he was told, control his 'saving people thing', tell Dumbledore the strict necessary and not tell him too much about the future to avoid some catastrophic butterfly effect.

Really.

He had barely convinced himself he would follow on his new resolution that a Fifth Year boy with chestnut hair and brown eyes sat in the sat in front of him. "You're the new student Albus mentionned last night, right?" he asked.

He blinked. "Yes?"

The brunette extended his hand. "Elphias Doge. We share the same dorms."

Harry frowned and carefully shook the hand, wondering why the name seemed so familiar.

"Albus wanted to make the introduction last night but apparently you were tired," the boy continued. "You're Harry Potter, right?"

"Yes, yes." He dazedly shook his head. "Sorry, you said Elphias Doge?" he asked, still trying to remember where he could have _possibly_ heard the name.

The boy nodded. "Maybe Albus mentionned me. We're friends."

It took several seconds for Harry to finally remember.

"Wait, _that_ Elphias Doge?"

It had been dark that night, but he remembered that there had been an old wizard in the Order of the Phoenix' advanced guard whose name had also been Elphias Doge.

Harry knew it could have been somebody sharing the same name, like a grandson or something. Still, considering that wizard had apparently also been a friend of Dumbledore who had decided to leave the Wizengamot when Dumbledore had been kicked out, it was highly probable that this Elphias Doge and that Elphias Doge were actually one and the same.

The young Elphias Doge's face considerably brightened. "So, he _did_ mention me?" Before Harry could say anything, he vividly began talking, "He is my best friend and I like to believe I am his. You see, I met Albus on the Hogwarts Express. We were in the same car and I just had suffered from dragon pox and..."

And, as the boy explained how he and Albus had met, Harry couldn't stop himself from smiling when Elphias told him that the two eleven years olds had finally sealed their friendship over two boxes of chocolate frogs and Berty Bott's Beans.

"That's the best way to," he admitted. That, and troll boogers.

"I had no money on me, so he bought the sweets and shared them with me. You will soon realize," he slyly said, "that Albus has quite a sweet tooth."

Harry burst to laugh. "No kidding!"

At the other side of the room, Albus turned his head at the noise. Seeing nothing too suspicious, he shrugged and took a Berty Bott's bean from the box on the table he promptly ate.

"If you ever want to bribe Albus," Elphias remarked when Albus's attention was back on the First Years, "use sweets. Anything works really, but he is rather fond of Berty Flavour Beans."

Harry tried not to grin and nodded.

"He is also a real mother hen so don't be too surprised if he reminds you to do your homework or if he tries to help you with Transfiguration even though you haven't asked him anything."

"Got it." He paused. "What can you tell me about the others?"

"Oh right!" He startled. "You haven't met them yet. Do you want me to introduce you to the rest of our housemates?" Harry shrugged but the brown-eyed was already getting up.

And that was how Elphias introduced him to the Fifth Year girls who were giggling for some reason. Harry really hoped they not were laughing at him because they had somehow heard of the butterfly incident.

"This is Ariel Meadowes, Agatha Fenwick and Virgina Selwyn." He pointed at the blonde, the brunette and the red-haired as he introduced them. "Ladies, this is our new classmate, Harry Potter."

Virginia winked at him.

Harry felt his cheeks reddening and turned to Elphias. "And the… And the boys?" his voice croaked.

"Right!" Elphias turned on his left and walked toward two boys who seemed to be playing exploding cards. "Boys, this is the new student Harry Potter. Harry, the green-eyed is Ambrosius Bones and the blonde here is of course Arthorius Weasley."

Harry stared at the blonde.

"Wh-What?" The blonde Weasley startled and weakly asked, "Wh-Why are you looking at me like that?"

 _Malfoy_ blonde.

"Nothing."

"So anyway," Elphias asked him, "where do you come from?"

"Oh!" Harry dazedly blinked, suddenly remembering his lack of cover story. "W-Well, I've been there and there."

"But _where_ exactly?" Bones crossed his arms. "Did you go to the Russian Empire? To our colonies? Unless you went even further." He startled. "Like Mahoukotoro! Did you study there?"

Harry considered his options. "Does it really matter where I'm from?" He winced and acted as if remembering was too painful. "I mean… I'm not there anymore and I'm here now."

If he focused on his friends, he wouldn't even have to pretend at all.

* * *

The first class they had the next day was History of Magic. And after that, Albus would have Arithmancy while the others would have Divination.

Elphias seemed to find this terribly poetic. "First we learn the past, then we learn the future." He nodded to himself as he refilled his glass of pumkin juice. "I still think you should have picked Divination, Albus. Aren't you curious about how the future will be like?"

Albus took the jar of honey and bemusedly shook his head. "Alas Elphias, I very much doubt that I possess the famed Third Eye. Why, I even believe I would be a terrible student."

"Don't say that," Elphias protested. "A wizard such as you, I'm sure you could master Divination like you did all the other subjects. Don't you think so?" He turned to the new student who seemed to be deep in thoughts.

Harry startled. "What?"

"Don't you think Albus could also be great at Divination?"

The green-eyed took a glance at him and shrugged.

"I mean, Albus is perhaps the smartest wizard of our age! I'm sure he will manage to see the future if he just bothers to try."

"My best friend is also smart," Harry remarked and slowly smiled. "Smartest witch of her age. She still dropped Divination. Found it to be a lot of rubbish."

Elphias looked so outraged Albus had to hide a smile behind his teacup. "It's not rubbish!" the brunette protested. "Divination is perhaps the most complex branch of magic we will ever learn! Maybe wizards are not as gifted as centaurs but we get by all the same! Those who believe divination is nothing but dragon dung are just close-minded-"

Albus decided to stop the discussion. "Unfortunatey, before attempting to lift the veil of time to see a glimpse of the future, there is still the past to deal with. And while it may not look like it at first glance, I can assure you that the past holds just as many mysteries as the future."

* * *

"So, how is the History of magic Professor?" Harry asked as they sat in History of Magic.

Albus paused. "He is… an eminent scholar," he carefully answered. Having listed all their teacher's qualities, he swiftly asked him what he was thinking of the subject.

Harry blankly looked at him. "I should have paid more attention in class," he just said. "Scratch that, I shouldn't have fallen asleep that day."

"I suppose it is not too late for you to correct that then."

Harry gave him _a look_. "Yes, I think it is."

"Nonsense!" he protested. "It is never too late to learn anything, let it be History of Magic, Potions or even knitting!"

The brunette's lips twiched. "Okay then." He took the quill Albus had lent him. "I'm not convinced but..." He shrugged. "If we're not studying goblin rebellions, I suppose I can give it a try."

The Gryffindor has barely finished his sentence that the door opened and a sickly-looking wizard with grey hair and in ratted red robes went to the front desk.

He posed his satchel on the desk. "This year, we will review goblin rebellions all thorough the sixteenth century."

The entire class groaned.

"I do not know who taught you History of magic," Albus regretfully said to a Harry who had dropped the quill at the wizard's entrance, "but whoever that person was, I doubt your teacher knows more about the subject than Professor Binns. It happens that the man has decided to consecrate his entire life to goblin rebellions and is the expert when it comes to this field. Maybe you will even learn somehing new with him," he tried to console him when Harry started hiding his face behind his hands.

* * *

Binns was alive.

 _Binns was alive._

He had known that ghost had been teaching there for a very long time, but he hadn't _actually_ believed the rumours saying he had been there for at least a century.

And the wizard was as boring as his ghost. In fact, if Harry wanted to be poetic or imitate Professor Dumbledore, Harry supposed he would say Binns was like the subject he was teaching: immuable.

"Now that we've endured the past," Elphias jovially said as they walked up the Divination Tower, "let's go to the future!"

Harry sighed. "You seem to really love Divination."

Elphias grinned. "I suppose I do. I'm very curious about what the future can be like so if I could just get a peek… imagine what we could do with it! I could… I don't know… win the Prophet's lottery!" He chuckled in amusement. "And also the teacher is amazing. A real seer! I mean, was your former Divination professor a seer?"

Harry nodded. "Made a prophecy right in front of me."

"Now I know you're pulling my leg," Elphias laughed. "Next you're going to tell me… I don't know… Next you're going to tell me a centaur taught you the art of Divination!"

Harry bit his cheek to avoid grinning.

And started when he saw the crowd in front of the ladder leading to the Divination classroom. "Wow." Was Divination _that_ popular these days? "Are… are you sure we'll all fit inside?"

"Yes, we do." Elphias shrugged as they waited for the others to climb the silver ladder. "The room is rather big, you know?" Not seeing Harry making a dubitative face he continued as they started climbing, "And, between you and me, it's my favourite in the entire school."

When Harry finally entered the classroom, his jaw dropped.

Ever since Harry had been there, he hadn't helped comparing this Hogwarts with his. So, without him noticing, he had been trying to see what was already here, what would one day disappear and what had yet to come. So far, he had to admit that, with perhaps the exception of the Whomping Willow, very little would change in a century. Some classrooms had different artifacts on the desk but that was it. And, if Harry had been startled in History of Magic to realize absolutely nothing had changed in Binns' classroom, he was this time shocked to realize how much the Divination's classroom would change.

The smell of incence Harry had been subconciously linking with this class wasn't present, nor were the chimtz armchair and the poufs, though the circular tables seemed to be already there. And if Professor Trelawey had never opened the curtains and preferred the light of her many lamps she had draped with dark red scarves, this Divination professor seemed to perfer natural sunlight and Harry finally discovered this room probably had the best view in the entire castle.

Finally, the weirdest thing in this room were the numerous painting of eyes on the wall which had been following his every movement since he entered.

"D-Do they always do that?" he asked Elphias.

"What? Oh them!" The Gryffindor waved it away as he went to the nearest table. "They'll get bored if you ignore them."

Harry tried to stop looking at the big red eye in front of him.

"Professor Mesmer is fascinated by them. I suppose it comes with the job really."

Elphias has barely finished his sentence that a door Harry had never noticed before suddenly opened and a middle-aged wizard holding a teatray entered the divination classroom.

"Morning everybody," the man mumbled, eyes on the tea service. "My Third Eye tells me this is your OWL year, so we'll begin reviewing-"

When the wizard raised his head, Harry noticed the wizard had the most electric blue eyes he had ever seen. It even seemed unnatural.

The wizard suddenly screamed and the tray fell, shattering the tea service.

"W-Well," the wizard shakily breathed under the class' incredulous eyes. "I-I admit I didn't forsee this." He rapidly blinked before violently shaking his head. "I-I suppose it's nice to be surprised once in a while. I wanted us to review tassomancy but..." He looked down on the shattered tea service. "I suppose we'll have to improvise," he dejectedly concluded. "Hate this but what can I say? So!" The Divination Professor pointed his finger at Harry, his electric blue eyes meeting Harry's green. "You, introduce yourself. What are you and why are you here?" Harry opened his mouth but the man as quicker. "And you better not lie to me because I hate when people lie to me."

Harry briefly considered telling him he was the time-traveller just to see if he'd believe him. "Harry Potter, sir. I'm a new student. And I… I want to learn divination."

Professor Mesmer stared at him. "... I see," he slowly said. "A new student." The wizard seemed thoughtful for a few seconds. Finally, he nodded. "Well then, I suppose that seals it. We're going to do this today," Professor Mesmer said as he retrieved a pendulum from his breastpocket.

Excited whispers suddenly filled the room.

"I love when he does that," someone behind him murmured.

"Now, I have to ask. Have you any experience with this?"

Harry looked at the pendulum dancing. "No, sir."

"Alright, that'll be easier then. Look closely. From what you can see, what is it supposed to do?"

It would be easier for him to say if that thing wasn't swinging, Harry thought. He could barely see the green spiral on it, which sometimes seemed to be winking at him. Unless it was an eye, or-

The floor vanished under his feet and Harry fell. Before Harry could even scream, he was back on the floor.

"What the bloody hell is-"

He blinked and owlishly looked around him.

He definitely wasn't in his Divination classroom anymore. Or even in Hogwarts. In fact, it seemed like he was inside somebody's living room.

Harry drawed his wand and slowly walked around the room, heart racing. He stared at the red sofa where a wand was lying.

Harry didn't know what the oddest thing was. Was it the fact that he's been catapulted out of Hogwarts?

Or was it the fact Harry had the distinct impression he had been there before?

He went to the green kitchen and disturbingly looked at the pumpkins on the table. He then went to an office where many books on charms and transfigurations were exposed on the shelves over a mahogany desk.

Harry took the frame on the desk and fought a gasp when he saw a wedding picture.

"I'm in my parents' house," he whispered.

Because that was James and Lily Potter who were passionately kissing and waving at him.

Had he time-travelled again? Was it possible that, _somehow_ , he had been sent home?

Maybe they were upstairs, Harry abruptly thought. He turned back to the door and almost ran to leave the room. Maybe he'd see them, he thought as he walked up the stairs and opened the door on the right. _Talk to them_ , maybe-

"Hello Harry, darling."

But it was neither his mother nor his father on the other side.

Voldemort sneered over the crib in the middle of the room. "Welcome home, baby. How was your day?"

Harry stared at his parents' murderer. "How can you be here?"

"I was invited." Voldemort retrieved a piece of parchment and waved it. "By your parents' good friend, may I add. I've heard they wanted a good scare for Halloween and I hate to disappoint. _The Potters live at 7 Hallow Street in Godric Hollow_ ," he read the parchment. "It's the correct adress, isn't it? I wouldn't want to kill the wrong family by accident."

Harry gritted his teeth and pointed his wand at him. "Get out of here," he ordered.

"Or what?" His crimson eyes were laughing at him. "You will kill me?"

Harry dangerously took a step forward.

"Did you know? I was standing where you are currently standing," he remarked. "And you were there." He pointed at the crib. "That terrible night. If you cast the Killing curse –or worse the _Disarming Charm_ \- what is going to happen, do you think? Will your mother's love save me? Will the curse rebound on you and you will die?"

"Will you become me? Or will I become you?" he finished as Harry's wand started shaking. "Why don't we find out, together, who we truly are?"

This couldn't be real, Harry furiously thought. This couldn't _possibly_ be real. Professor Mesmer must have done something to him and he was just making things up and-

"Yes, he did something," Voldemort interrupted his musings. "This is all in your head but, why, on earth, should that mean this isn't real?"

In that case, all he had to do was to use occlumency and Voldemort would vanish and-

"-and nothing. I'm here, in your head. I've been here for almost fifteen years. Maybe you will stop us from having a nice chat –you're a terrible host by the way, didn't your mudblood of mother teach you any manners? Oh right, I killed her- but I will never leave."

Harry closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind. To stop thinking about the monster in front of him and this house where his parents died. To focus on the Divination classroom. To only think of these freaking paintings of eyes following his every movement. Of Professor Mesmer's electric blue eyes. If he only focused on the place where he stood before this farce began, then _maybe_ -"

"So he _can_ be taught," Voldemort's voice seemed far away. "That's good to know. Still, come back any time you want. I rarely have people to entertain myself with these days. And, let's be honest, you _need_ me if you want to survive here. Or even find a way home."

He didn't! His mind rebelled. And he would _never_ come back.

"We'll see, we'll see. Never say never."


	5. Troubled Waters

When Harry came back to reality, he was on the floor and holding on his forehead for life.

"He's a Seer!" a voice screamed. "He has just opened his third eye!"

Couldn't they shut up? Harry thought as he hissed at the hot soaring pain in his scar.

"I don't know if I should call you the best or the worst subject for hypnosis," Professor Mesmer remarked as he put the pendulum back in his pocket. "Best because of how easily you fell in trance. Worst for how I couldn't manage to communicate with you. Is your third eye oriented inwards? More than that, did you use occlumency to snap yourself out of the trance I put you under?"

Harry tried to ignore the pain and glared at him. "What the hell was that?" he spat, heart still beating fast.

"Language. And, if were paying attention, you would know I've used hypnosis on you. When a wizard goes in trance, a door opens in his mind, allowing him to enter an altered state where he is not bound by his body's limitations and can go where he normally cannot. It's a version of legimency if you want hence my question. Did you use occlumency to leave that state?"

Harry gritted his teeth and shakily got up. "Yes." He bit his tongue before he could ask him why on earth he hadn't bothered warning him.

The wizard nodded. "The goal in my class is to open your third eye, not to close it. And I've warned you."

"You didn't!" he exclaimed.

But the wizard ignored him. "You seem to have the gift, but are afraid to use it," he remarked. "I understand it can be scary to let mystical forces communicate with you, but it is a gift like any other. Some can get a see the future, some can speak to snakes And one shouldn't run away from who he inherently is."

Harry should have stayed in bed.

"And Mister Potter? Detention with me for your attitude."

* * *

Albus sat next to him for lunch. "So…" he lightly began. "Apparently, you are a seer."

Harry groaned over his plate. "We've _just_ left class. How can you, possibly, have heard of what happened?"

"I have my ways," he mysteriously answered. "How many of our classmates have tried to force you to reveal what the future is going to be like?"

All of them. He hid his face behind his hands. Everyone in class has started harassing him whenever Professor Mesmer wasn't looking to know if they were going to have their OWLs, if Professor O'Connor was going to make a surprise test tomorrow. If Augustine and he were going to last and when would that muggle Queen finally kick the bucket.

He answered the last one just to make them shut up.

He shouldn't have.

"I suppose I should not disappoint in this case," Albus lightly remarked. "What can you tell me about my future?"

Harry stilled and slowly turned his head. Dumbledore's blue eyes seemed to be laughing at him.

That should be it. The moment he had been waiting for since he's time-traveled. He could tell Dumbledore right then he was a time-traveler in desperate need of a mean to go home. Home being in this instance 1996.

But, as he opened his mouth to tell him, he hesitated.

That was without a doubt the best moment, but it also was the worst place. Anybody in the Great Hall could be listening and-

Albus smirked.

That expression on his face was so unexpected that Harry's brain froze.

"You don't believe in Divination," he numbly realized.

"I don't," he confirmed. "I believe in many things and try to keep an open mind, but divination and fate?" He shook his head. "I like to believe in free will and brave men to shape the future."

"That's very close-minded for you, Albus," Elphias Doge who had sat next to Albus remarked. "You cannot say there isn't _something_! What about seers and prophecies?"

He sighed. "Alas, Elphias, how can we possibly know that they are not acting? That prophecies are not some nonsense fairly impressionable minds decide to understand the way they see fit? Until I see a seer making one right in front of me, I'm afraid I will not be moved."

"B-But..." Harry tried to keep the conversation going. "What if somebody does know what is going to happen?" Albus indulgently smiled and Harry tried not to let his temper get the better of him. " _Somehow_ , he knows."

"And how does he?"

"He just does."

Albus condescendingly shook his head. "Let's suppose that this person somehow knows everything that is going to happen then. He had a vision and as a result knows everything that is going to pass for the next… let's say the next decade. This man tells us everything he knows. Will that knowledge not influence this future he swears to have foreseen? Because if he manages to change the future, then this means this future he has seen in his sleep wasn't a certainty, it was just a dream."

Harry stared.

"And even if he didn't change anything because he couldn't," he continued, "then what was the point? Taking a glimpse at the future this way, wouldn't be like peeking on your favourite book's last page? If you do this, then you better put it back on the shelves because you've just _spoiled_ it."

The last words hit Harry like a whip.

He hadn't known what he had expected, really. Maybe he had hoped that Albus Dumbledore would be like Hermione, telling him he wasn't allowed to chase after Scabber even if it could save Sirius. That the only man Voldemort has ever feared would learn of the future and tell him not to worry. That he'd send him back with a flick of his wand and that, now that he knew the stakes, he would be able to save everybody, somehow, despite everything. Or maybe he wouldn't pry because he wasn't going to be foolish like Harry and try to change the past.

But that wasn't the past, was it? Harry horrifyingly realized as he swallowed. To them, _this_ was the present and he was just _a_ future.

"He says that," Elphias remarked, "but he still does this every time he goes in a bookshop."

"It's a bad habit of mine," the prefect acknowledged, "and I always deeply regret doing so. Nonetheless, when I realize how the story is inevitably going to end I can't help but think it was a waste of my time. I want to be shocked, to have the rug pulled under my feet. Sadly, it almost never happens," he finished with a sigh.

Ever since he's time-travelled, Harry had felt like he was drowning. He had tried to fight it, to to keep his head over the water and to find land. But right at the moment, it was as if Gildelgrows had grabbed his feet and were pulling him under.

"How can it, Albus?" Elphias chuckled. "How can you be surprised if you've already read the denouement?"

The red-haired sighed again. "Maybe surprised is the wrong word, I suppose. Perhaps that what I really seek is a reason to pick a new book. And when it inevitably shows me I will not like it, I do not see why I should bother. It is better to find a better story while you still can instead of wasting your time over something you know you won't like, don't you think?"

And would Albus Dumbledore _like_ Harry's time?

* * *

"Was Divination that fascinating?" Albus finally asked two hours later as they were leaving Herbology and heading to the Defense Against the Dark Arts's classroom.

He knew the Divination Professor rather enjoyed impressing the unsuspecting and easily manipulable students with hypnosis. Still, such parlour trick shouldn't have caused such a strong and lasting reaction. From what he's managed to glean, Harry hadn't even be receptive to his persuasions.

The new student shook his head. "Something like that. What I saw-" he grimaced.

"Ah." He sympathically smiled. "Let me reassure you then. Hypnosis is only a way for a wizard to reach his unconcious, as some Viennese alienist calls it. It does not necessarily means any of what you have just witnessed is real. In fact, it is highly probable that it was not."

In that respect, hypnosis was like oneiromancy. Studying one's dreams was without a doubt of great importance to understand one's mind and it was even more so when one knew how to control his dreams. However, one could hardly predict the future this way or even get 'visions' of places they've never been.

The brunette didn't seem convinced. "But what if it was real?" he whispered.

Albus sighed.

He shouldn't be surprised to see Professor Mesmer had managed to convince another student he was an actual seer of great power. After all, everything the man did was carefully planned to leave that impression. Like his 'talent' at telling the class the exact number of points he was going to give before the lesson even starting. Albus himself had almost fallen in this trap when he was but a Second Year.

Professor Mesmer telling his younger self he was an idiot that would finish last in his year had thankfully brought him back to reality.

Harry shook his head several times and pinched his nose. "How is the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor?" he asked him in a clear attempt to change subject.

"That, I admit I cannot tell you." Albus put his hands in his pockets as they reached the Third Floor. "Professor Merrythought is our new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor so this is going to be a first for everybody."

The new student snorted. "Unbelievable," Albus heard him muttering.

He ignored the interruption. "I asked the Second Years who had class with her yesterday what they thought of her last night. From what they told me, she is rather good. She also believes apparently that it is more important to focus on the practical aspects of Defence Against the Dark Arts rather than the theorical parts."

"She's right," Harry commented. "Theory is useless. You can't just read a book and suddenly knows what to do when there's somebody trying to kill you."

When they finally entered classroom 3C, it was with some surprise that Albus realized the tables and chairs have all vanished.

"Oh," he breathed as he saw the drawings on the floor. "This is going to be good." He advanced to the center of the room and seeing Harry frowning he elaborated, "This is a duelling circle." Well, it wasn't _actually_ a circle but the expression had stayed. "Meaning that Professor Merrythought intends to teach us the art duelling."

"Correct," a voice behind them said and Harry startled before drawing his wand. "Two points to Gryffindor. Mister Dumbledore, is that correct?"

"Yes, Professor."

Professor Merrythought was a petite witch with brown eyes and dirty blond hair. At first glance, she looked like the average witch you could meet in the street and even her relaxed posture seemed to indicate she was a frail woman who could not _possibly_ defend herself or hurt a fly.

But Albus knew better. Appearance were often deceiving when it came to magic after all and, while her hands were in her pockets, he had no doubt considering the lines in her robe she has been holding her wand and pointing it in Harry's direction the moment he has drawed his.

"And you must be Mister Potter." Head turned to Harry who couldn't help blinking. "Professor Dippet may have mentionned the two of you. Apparently, you are rather good at Defence Against the Dark Arts." As Harry put his wand back in his pocket, Professor Merrythought slowly crossed her arms. "From what I understand, your class hasn't done any duelling before."

"That is correct, Professor."

"But you have duelled before, haven't you?"

Albus paused. "I admit I have not. I have learned what I could in my spare time but I've never put what I've learned into practice."

She nodded. "What about you, Mister Potter?"

"I had a lesson once but…" Harry grimaced. "It's complicated," he finally settled. "I've been parts of some… _duels_ but nothing very official."

"I suppose we'll see soon enough," she said as the rest of the class started entering the room. "If this doesn't bother you, may I require your help for today's lesson?"

"We will be delighted to help you, Professor," Albus assured her.

"Perfect." She smiled as the rest of the class began entering the room.

Harry slowly turned to him.

"Welcome everybody," Professor Merrythought began once everybody has arrived. "My name is Galatea Merrythought and from this day forward I will be your Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor. This year, as I have no doubt you know, you will have to sit for your Ordinary Wizarding Level Tests. And while it is easy to study the theorical portion, the practical portion requires far more than you knowing which spell to use. No, you will have to show your examiner that you are able to use these spells adequately."

As Professor Merrythought began explaining how she was going to focus on them practicing the spells they would learn in her class by making duelling tournaments, Harry slowly turned to him. "I don't remember saying yes," he slowly hissed.

Albus shrugged. "Were you going to say no?" he whispered back.

"That's not the point! We don't even know what we're supposed to do!"

"I think that is rather obvious actually."

Harry frowned, but before he could ask for further explanations, Professor Merrythought finished her introduction: "To show you, I have asked two of your classmates to start a friendly duel. I have no doubt seeing them in action will be enlightening for everybody."

* * *

Harry was going to duel Dumbledore.

Harry was going to duel _Dumbledore_.

The announcement had startled him so much he hadn't even bothered listening to Professor Merrythought's explanations about how to greet his opponent and was now stupidly facing the prefect in the center of the duelling circle.

He, Harry Potter, was going to duel Albus Dumbledore, arguably the greatest wizard of the century.

If he had known what would be asked of him, he would have refused. Well, maybe he would have accepted but, at minimum, he would have liked having a choice.

"If you leave the dueling circle, you only have seven seconds to go back inside," Professor Merrythought explained. "Past this time, you lose. The duel will end when either one of you leave the circle for more than seven seconds or lose his wand. There is no time limit in itself, but I may have to stop the duel if class ends before a clear winner is found."

"Five sickles Dumbledore will trounce him in five minutes," a Slytherin behind him whispered.

"Ten, he will in two."

The red-haired raised his wand. "May the best one win," he lightly said as he gracefully bowed.

Jaw tense, Harry slowly did the same, his eyes never leaving the prefect.

"At three, the duel begins. One. Two."

Dumbledore smiled and Harry gritted his teeth when he heard the students snickering.

"Three."

"Protego!" Harry exclaimed as a light blue spell immediately started leaving Dumbledore's wand.

The shield hadn't even stopped reflecting the first curse that another other spell hit it.

And another.

And another.

A few times Harry thought his shield would shatter as Dumbledore kept firing spells at an almost inhuman speed. Harry even had to take several steps back when one sickly yellow curse hit the shield which gave an omnious gong-like sound.

But the shield held. And after what what felt like an eternity to Harry, the wizard stopped his assault to take a breath.

Harry took advantage of the opening. "Impedimenta!"

Dumbledore did a pirouette, avoiding the jinx and an army of bees suddenly appeared and angrily flew in Harry's direction.

The vanishing spell sent the bees to the non-being.

Albus blinked, slowly smiled, and conjured a bullterrier as he narrowly avoided a disarming charm.

With a sharp swish of his wand, Harry stunned the animal running in his direction and threw another disarming charm and a protego.

Unfortunately, the wizard ducked the spell before throwing a green curse.

Harry's heart stopped as he saw the all too distinctive emerald light coming in his direction and jumped out of the curse' path. He hurriedly turned around, praying nobody got hit by the Unforgivable.

When he saw the emerald wall behind him, he was so shocked he didn't even register he had left the duelling circle and the students had already started counting down.

Something ugly formed in his chest when he saw the wizard smiling and heard the rest of the class chanting : "Five, Four, Three..."

A colouring charm. It had just been just a colouring charm.

Harry rolled back to the duelling circle as Dumbledore casted the disarming charm.

Dumbledore's goal had never been to disarm him. It had been to push him out of the circle. That was why he had kept throwing so many spells at him. He hadn't hoped to break his shield, he had wanted to push him back until he was out of bounds. And as it was strong enough to resist his attack, he had made a feint to push him into making a mistake.

The anger that had been following him all year was back, as if it had never really left. It had been bad enough when Professor Dumbledore had been treating him like a child and not taking him seriously after everything he's been through, it was even worse to realize the fifteen years old was doing the same.

'So this is just a game for you,' he thought as he started firing spells at him.

"Stupefy! Impedimenta! Reducto!"

'Looking down on everybody. Not even bothering to look at me in the eyes.'

Dumbledore's protego shattered under his curses and he hissed in pain when a reducto hit his right shoulder.

'Always telling me what to do, but never explaining why. Always keeping me in the dark.'

Wasn't it because he hadn't known what Voldemort was seeking in the Department of Mysteries he had gone there with his friends? Worse, did he know about the Voldemort living in his head and just hadn't bothered telling him?

"Expelliarmus!"

The spell hit Dumbledore's shoulder and he screamed.

When the wand reached his open hand, Harry looked at the wizard and grimly smiled.

"Game over."

And, even though it was most probably unfair and he was being irrational, Harry in that moment couldn't help thinking this whole mess was the fault of the wizard in front of him.


	6. Aftermath

"Excellent. I couldn't have asked for a better first duel. Ten points to Gryffindor each," Professor Merrythought said. "Mister Dumbledore, how is your shoulder?"

Albus held his right shoulder with his left hand and fought a wince. "I'm fine."

She raised her eyebrows. "Are you sure?"

"I am."

The shield charm had undoubtedly weakened the reductor curse, so there most certainly was nothing wrong with it. He just was surprised the pain hasn't left yet and how much it had hindered him to defend himself from the final disarming charm.

He carefully moved his shoulder.

"This is why it's always recommended to dodge rather than to rely on the shield charm," she remarked. "Unfortunately for you, Mister Potter's curse hit you in the worst place. Unless you could have healed it during the duel, you would have had to bear with this handicap."

He knew. That was why he had purposefully decided to focus on a more aggressive dueling form and trusted his reflexes to dodge the spells coming his way. Harry however hadn't followed the normal recommendations and had trusted his shield charm to hold.

There was something incredibly unfair that _he_ was the one whose shield broke. Normally, it should have been Harry's.

"Are you sure you do not need to go to the infirmary?"

"I am." He crossed his arms and willed himself not to show everybody it still hurt.

It was mostly his pride that got wounded if he was being honest.

Professor Merrythought thankfully didn't insist. "As it will be the case all year," she said to the silent class, "we will watch two of you dueling to then analyze the fight. See which spells were used, try to understand why they were used this way, and whether you made a mistake or not in doing so. So, we're going to first discuss Mister Dumbledore's dueling style. What can you tell me about it?"

The class didn't answer and Albus couldn't stop a wince.

"You can tell the first thing in your mind," she tried again. "How he held himself, which spells he used, how he used them. What struck you when he duelled Mister Potter?"

Still no reaction.

The Defense Professor sighed and slowly turned to the brunette. "What about you, Mister Potter? What can tell you about Mister Dumbledore's style? Considering you fought him, what struck you the most?"

The winner of their duel glared at him. "The colouring charm," he spat.

"Yes, we are going to address that later. What other charms did you recognize though?"

Harry gritted his teeth before closing his eyes. After a few deep breaths he answered, "The conjuration charm. And the shield charm."

"Conjuration for the bees and the dog, yes. And the shield charm in the end. What else did you think he casted?"

Harry opened his eyes and hesitated. "I don't know."

"And why don't you?" When Harry shrugged, she turned to the class and asked, "Any idea?"

A Slytherin slowly raised his hand.

"Yes, Mister Black?"

"Dumb-" Black coughed. "Dumbledore was using non-verbal magic. As he didn't hear any incantation, he didn't know which spell he was using."

"Exactly. Five points to Slytherin. Non-verbal magic is a rather powerful weapon in a duelist arsenal for it usually wins him a few precious seconds to cast the spell. It also confuses the other duelist who usually tries to figure out which spells are being casted. It appears that Mister Potter didn't bother to do that and decided to remain in the defensive instead."

"But how do we figure which spell is being used if we do not hear the incantation?" Arthorius raised his hand and asked.

"The wand movement mostly. If I'm correct, your classmate began by using transfiguration spells to turn you into either a teapot or a a mouse," she answered as Albus pointedly looked away. "He then tried to turn the shield charm itself into a regular shield he could have broken afterward. This never works by the way. Transfigurating magic itself is impossible," Albus gave a grimace but she continued, "and even if it is, the shield charm is the worst spell and this duel the worst moment to attempt that. I also spotted a dancing feet spell and when he tried to push the shield out of the duelling circle, he used a few curses like Everte Status. Did I miss anything?"

Albus blinked and slowly shook his head. "No, Professor."

"Now, unto Mister Potter. He has not once used non-verbal magic so this should be easier. What spell did he use?"

Elphias slowly raised his hand. "The disarming charm, mostly. But he also tried a few stunners."

"Expelliarmus, and stupefy," she confirmed. "What else?"

"He banished the bees," Elphias continued, "he also tried to slow Albus with an Impedimenta. And-and he used that spell… reducio, I think."

"Reducto," she corrected. "The Reductor Curse is used most of the time to blast solid objects into pieces. It's rather powerful magic compared to the others, so it's not very surprising it was that spell which went through Mister Dumbledore's shield."

Except it shouldn't have, Albus couldn't help thinking. His shield was strong enough to handle such attack normally.

Professor Merrythought, as if she could hear what he was thinking, softly said, "Non-verbal magic has many advantages, but it has also a couple of flaws. One of them is that, most of the time, the spell casted non-verbally is comparatively weaker than one casted verbally. With enough experience, one learns to compensate but you didn't. As a result, your shield charm was weaker than your usual spell. As Mister Potter was also angry, his reductor curse was also stronger than usual."

Albus slowly nodded. That would also explain why Harry's shield charm had managed to hold that long. If all his spells had been weaker than usual, it would have needed far more to make a real dent. Moreover, he hadn't actually wanted to outright break the shield. Still, he had been surprised by the shield's unusual strength.

"I'm curious though." She slowly crossed her arms. "Why did you use the colouring charm?"

Harry sent him a venimous glare. "I've heard of a new duelling spell recently," he slowly began, "one that was used in the Morgana Cup and-"

"Mister Snyde ultimately got disqualified for using it," she interrupted. "Using feints is legal, true, but this one has been declared too close to comfort. You didn't use the modified sleeping charm but considering there was no incantation, Mister Potter would have well been within his right to ask for a reduel had he lost."

Albus sighed.

He was aware what he had done was slightly frowned upon. Still, he had been curious and this had been the surest way for him to have his answer. Moreover, he had believed Harry wouldn't manage to drop the shield and dodge on time. He had really thought nobody would realize what he had attempted to do.

Harry had said he had never really duelled before and yet knew curses commonly used in duelling circles. The way he had managed to get rid of his bees and the strength of his shield charm had been impressive but he hadn't attempted more complex spells with the exception of the banishing charm and the reductor curse. Finally he had stayed still for most part of the duel and made the mistake of letting Albus set the pace of the entire duel. So, rather than a duellist, he had speculated the wizard was simply a fighter.

Albus had just wanted to test his hypothesis.

Seeing the new student was still glaring, Albus attempted a slightly bemused smile. "You didn't actually believe I would use that curse, did you?"

Considering he was the one who lost the duel, _he_ should be the one being upset.

* * *

Harry spent the rest of the lesson shooting daggers at Dumbledore.

Not even Professor Merrythought slightly scolding the prefect had been enough to calm him. In fact, the more time was passing, the angrier he was.

The prefect had read that when two wizards were duelling, one had to analyze everything. From the wand movement of your opponent to which tactic was to be used. He had tried to explain he had seen their duel like a chess match where each spell, each move was a piece to advance. And feints like the one he had used were apprently commonly used to break one's apparently impenetrable defence.

So, even though he hadn't actually said it, it was not his fault Harry couldn't recognize one.

Harry tightened his fist.

It had been the same green that had taken Cedric. It had been the same green that had killed his father and his mother. It had been the same green that had haunted his sleep before he even knew what it was.

And, from the way Dumbledore was presenting it, he was overreacting and he should have known better?

His jaw clenched as Professor Merrythought after explaining their strengths asked the class which mistakes Dumbledore and he had made.

"From the way you were presenting it, non-verbal magic wasn't the best course of action," the Slytherin whose name was Black proposed.

Professor Merrythought paused. "Not necessarily. He did gain an advantage as Mister Potter was operating blind. I was just saying he hadn't taken into consideration the fact his spell would be weaker. How long have you been using non-verbal magic, Mister Dumbledore?"

"Not very long, I admit," the wizard mused. "I thought the power differential wouldn't be that important but it looks like I was wrong."

Harry gritted his teeth and raised his fist.

"Mister Potter, I'm sure you have an idea why you won."

Harry decided not to beat around the bush. "He underestimated me."

She nodded. "This is the source of the problem. He clearly underestimated you and just tried to push you out of the duelling circle instead of fighting you. That is the worst mistake a wizard can ever make. In this world, there are threats one may outright overlook and pay dearly. For that alone, Mister Dumbledore wouldn't have had a passing grade had I decided to mark you."

Albus ticked and Harry couldn't help a vindicative smirk.

"Now you. What mistakes did you make, Mister Potter?" Professor Merrythought turned to him and Harry owlishly blinked. "You won the duel, that is true, but do you believe you handled the fight adequately?"

Harry crossed his arms and tried to imagine what he would tell the DA had he not been the one fighting.

"The beginning was bad," he slowly started, "like, I got lucky my shield held that long and he used non-verbal magic." Seeing her nodding, he sighed. "I couldn't move at all and didn't know where to go."

Harry had been for most of the duel a sitting duck. Dumbledore might have intended to push him outside the duelling circle the same way one would push a spider outside one's house, he could have also stepped on him and there was very little Harry could have done to avoid that.

"I just… I just don't see what I should have done."

"You made the mistake of letting him set the pace. He casted the first spell and he kept casting spells while you were stuck on the defensive. Mostly, you only reacted to his attacks."

Harry startled. "But-"

She raised her hand and Harry shut up. "The moment he started to tire himself, you used the opportunity to attack but even then, you kept reacting," she pointed out. "He had many opportunities to win the duel while you had very little by comparison. He used the colouring charm to break the statut quo, but he hadn't considered the wind may turn in your favour. And once you started attacking, all you needed was for one of your spell to pierce his shield to end the fight. Which leads me to what probably is the most important point in today's lesson. We saw today two rather gifted wizards exchanging spells right in front of us," she told the class. " _And yet_ , as you must have noticed, they both acted very differently. Can anybody make an educated guess on why their styles were so different?"

Harry crossed and his arms and thought about the question.

Elphias said that certainly was because Dumbledore must have known more spells and had a more varied arsenal, which was true. The blonde Weasley said that was probably because Harry being a traveller had learned differently from them, which might also be true.

"Harry wasn't duelling," Dumbledore finally said. When he saw everybody frowning, he elaborated, "His style is unlike any duellist' because he is not one. He was fighting."

"He was defending himself," she corrected. "He was only fighting at the end. He was defending himself like some of you might have to one day. Neutralizing somebody's spells before they can harm you, casting defensive charms and hoping they are going to hold, trying to find a weakness, an opening in somebody's attack… It is not as pretty nor as elaborate as many duels you may see in dueling circuits but this is how many fights, if not all of them, go. Admittedly, Mister Potter made the mistake of not trying to neutralize Mister Dumbledore from the very beginning but he had the reflex to protect himself the second he saw he was about to curse him. More importantly, he dodged a curse he identified as one he would never manage to protect himself from. _That_ is what I will try to teach you in my class. How to defend yourself when you're facing an unknown and potentially life-threatening attack." She clapped her hands. "Now, as we still have thirty minutes, we will finally start our lesson. I want each of you to find a partner and attempt to cast the Disarming charm. The incantation is Expelliarmus and the wand movement is on the board," she said as the chalk started writing on the blackboard.

From the corner of his eyes, Harry saw Dumbledore advancing in his direction.

Harry took the first wizard on hand and proposed to help him with the disarming charm.

Black raised an eyebrow, but ultimately shrugged. "You clearly know the charm so I'll just disarm you."

Seeing after his fifth try what he was doing wrong, Harry told him he was flourishing his wand too much and showed him the correct wand movement.

"Did I ask for your help?" the Slytherin snapped. "Expelliarmus!" he exclaimed as he replicated Harry's wand movement.

This time, Harry's wand flew in his direction.

The raven-haired caught his holly wand and smirked. "See? I didn't need your help at all." Harry sighed as the wizard threw his wand back. "My family taught me dark magic ever since I was a child. So let me tell you, if you had fought me, you would have lost."

Perhaps he should have stayed with Dumbledore.

"More seriously," Black said as he crossed his arms, "who are you? I have not heard there was supposed to be a new student until yesterday. And also, it doesn't look like you even have a quill or a schoolbag. And _your clothes_ , weren't you wearing these yesterday?"

Harry tried a smile. "My luggage got lost. I'm afraid I'm waiting for the week-end to buy what I need."

" _Sure._ I'm sure these Gryffindors are buying it. Dumbledore is so air-headed he probably even gave you this idea by accident." The wizard casted the spell and Harry's wand flew to him once more.

"You think I'm lying."

Black gave him _a look_. "I'm not a Gryffindor, or a Hufflepuff. At Slytherin, we use that thing between our ears called a brain. A new student coming out of nowhere, a seer of great powers..." He shook his head. "Do you want to know what seers are good at?"

"Seeing?" he said as he ducked Black's expelliarmus.

Black snorted. "Right. Well, I'm not a seer but I see in your future is a lot of troubles if you don't get help from the right wizard."

Harry could stop himself from rolling his eyes. "Let me guess, you're the right wizard."

"Believe me, you should want me as an ally. Because, I can assure you, there will be a time when you will need help. And Dumbledore will not protect you."

* * *

"I don't get it," Elphias told Albus once the new student walked past them after class. "Considering it was you who lost the duel, _you_ should be the one upset. Not the other way around!"

The prefect sighed. "While I do not know why he is angry at me, I suppose he has his reasons."

"You did nothing wrong!"

Albus shrugged. "I may have hurt his feelings without me noticing, I've been told I do that sometimes. I'll ask him once he has calmed down so I can apologize."

"But you did nothing wrong!" Elphias insisted while several Slytherins walked past them. "I don't even get why Professor Merrythought took you points!"

"That was because of the colouring charm, no doubt."

When Albus had casted it, he had known there was a risk their new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor would disapprove. Still, he had needed to know so he had decided to try his luck and made his feint to see if he was right about the new student. And, like many Gryffindors, he didn't care much about the House Cup so he wasn't particularily upset about that and had just done what he needed to do.

He had a new piece of the puzzle that was Harry Potter. Now, he had to figure where it fit.

"You have Muggle Studies, don't you?"

"Yeah." Elphias checked his timetable and sighed. "I should have picked Care of Magical Creatures like you. Or Runes." he lamented.

"Just one more year." He sympathically smiled as the wizard morosely started walking to Muggle Studies.

If his memory was correct, he didn't have class until tomorrow so he should probably begin with his homework.

There was also this potion he was trying to make. If he wanted to succeed, he knew he had to make sure everything would be perfect, so he had to make a little detour in the library.

When he turned left, he noticed a group of Ravenclaws was strangely looking at him.

"Is there a problem?" he amiably asked.

The witches startled. "N-No," a Fourth Year stammered. "It-it's just-"

"Is it true somebody beat you in a duel?" a witch blurted out.

The rest of the group glared at her and Albus smiled.

The entire school already knew, didn't it?

"It is," he tried to keep his tone light. "Professor Merrythought asked a student and I to assist her and we duelled. It happens I got careless and as a result lost."

The group looked as if he had just told them the Earth was flat.

"It was the new student, wasn't it?" a Hufflepuff finally asked. "The Seer."

Albus supposed he should be impressed. The new student hadn't even been here for two days and everybody already knew about him.

He had seen Black discussing with him and he had no doubt Horace would attempt to befriend the one who had managed to beat him as soon as he could. And after Horace, it would be everybody. A gifted student who had come from God knew where, a wizard who appeared to be a Seer and that had defeated _Albus Dumbledore_ in under ten minutes. Harry Potter was something new, something exotic and a complete mystery begging to be solved. _Of course_ everybody would want to look at that wizard. Albus had known from the very beginning this was going to happen but he had hoped to have a week before everybody started gravitating around the new student.

"Yes, it was."

Albus hoped Harry Potter liked fame.


	7. Harry Potter vs Hogwarts rumour mill

"I'm afraid that Professor Mesmer took everything we had on occlumency this morning", the librarian said. "He said it was urgent and that he was going give them back next month."

Harry took a deep breath and tried not to scream.

There was no denying it now. Today wasn't his day.

It wasn't his week either. Or his year.

What was he thinking? It wasn't even his bloody _century_.

Harry didn't even bother thanking the witch and angrily left the library, not even noticing Dumbledore entering as he was leaving.

He had hoped to find something to deal with this vision of Voldemort but, apparently, somebody out there hated him.

His occlumency lessons with Snape had been painful, and humiliating but at the very least he had very little to lose. His pride perhaps, and he had known Snape would taunt him every time he would see something embarrassing, but he hadn't been hiding anything too important.

Now however? He didn't trust anybody with the knowledge he was a time-traveller. And a glance at any of his memories would be as good as a confession. From his Fifth year to Uncle Vernon's newest car, anything and everything would betray he wasn't from this century.

So Harry _had_ to learn occlumency properly. Not only to deal with the Voldemort problem, but also to deal with the time travel problem. Meaning he needed to find a way to finally master occlumency as soon as he could.

Problem was, the way things were, Harry certainly wasn't going to let _Albus Dumbledore_ help him if that meant letting him in his head.

Harry gritted his teeth at the memory of what the wizard had done.

Dumbledore was a genius, everybody knew that. So why on earth had he thought it was a good idea to do _that_? Was he _that_ desperate not to lose a bloody duel? Was it some stupid joke?

Harry pinched his nose and sighed.

He was lost. He was lost and he didn't know who to trust. Worse, he had so much on his plate he had no idea what he was supposed to do. Should he focus on the time travel problem, or the Voldemort problem?

 _"I'm here, in your head. I've been here for almost fifteen years. Maybe you will stop us from having a nice chat –you're a terrible host by the way, didn't your mudblood of mother teach you any manners? Oh right, I killed her- but I will_ never _leave."_

Harry grimaced at the memory.

He didn't know if that vision was real, he tried to remind himself. Albus may be right and this was nothing but his imagination. And furthermore, if it was real, this Voldemort had said he had been here for over fifteen years and nothing had happened so far. The Voldemort problem was important, but if this Voldemort was being honest –and Harry didn't know if he should hope that was the case- then it wasn't the most urgent.

The time travel problem however, he had to deal with it. And, while nobody could to know Harry Potter was a time traveller for the time being, he doubted many students knew legimency. Maybe fifteen years old Dumbledore did, but if he avoided looking at him in the eyes or outright avoided him, he supposed he would be safe.

He'd have to make do and learn occlumency on his own -he wasn't _completely_ ignorant after all- and just try to survive here until he could find somehow a way to go back.

In other words, Harry thought, the plan for now was to find a way back home and not change the future, nor let anybody find out he was not from this time.

To do that, Harry Potter had to be a wizard like any other here. One very unremarkable and normal, average wizard, somebody nobody would remember once he would finally leave this century and go home.

He could do it.

* * *

"And you say he beat _Albus Dumbledore_ in a duel?" a Fifth-Year from Hufflepuff breathed.

The Fourth-Year Hufflepuff nodded. "Albus himself confirmed it."

"Blimey. I didn't- I didn't think that was possible! B-But _how_?"

The Fourth Year carefully looked at the librarian behind her. "Maybe he used the Sight to See how he could win against him," she whispered.

Wouldn't that count as cheating? Albus wondered.

"Or _maybe_ ," the girl's friend whispered back, "he is one of these geniuses who have heard about Dumbledore and now wants to prove _he_ is the superior wizard. Benedicta told me that Peggy told her Agatha told her these two were close so maybe that's why. He must be _really_ good."

"You think so?" she breathed.

"Oh come on. Don't you find suspicious that he came here just like that and Dippet likes him? He _has_ to be good and it's obvious he has no problem with class."

"And what do you think? You think _he_ is the better wizard?"

"I don't know. Maybe?"

Albus hid his face behind his hand and sighed while the girls a couple of feet away from him kept gossiping.

"He's odd, you know" the Fifth-Year continued. "I mean, a complete stranger who looks like one of these purebloods but nobody has ever heard of? I'm sure he's hiding _something_."

"Yes, that's obvious, but _what_?"

The two girls crossed their arms and hummed.

"Maybe Harry Potter is not his real name," one of them whispered.

It hadn't even been fifteen minutes since the end of their lesson and the gossip mill was going strong. In a couple of hours, what would the new student become? The greatest wizard of modern times?

Albus decided to stop paying attention and focused on his book. Creating new potions was a dangerous business, and the slightest mistake could be fatal. He knew he was on the right track, but any misstep could cost him dearly. Moreover, even if he was extremely careful, everything could blow up in his face. It had happened several times and, if he was honest with himself, Albus was growing sick of waking up in the infirmary without any recollection of how that happened.

But what was life without a few risks? he reasoned. If nobody tried, nobody would ever know if that worked.

When Albus finally left the library two hours later, he was rather confident that the potion he was going to brew in a week would not blow up in his face like the last three and that Harry Potter was neither the heir of Gryffindor nor Slytherin.

Where did they get these ideas anyway?

* * *

"Don't worry, your secret is safe with me."

" _What_?"

The Slytherin who had cornered him while he was heading to the Great Hall jovially laughed. "I have to say, you're not being as subtle as you think you are."

Harry spluttered. "I don't… I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you don't," he indulged. He slyly smiled as he put a strand of straw blonde hair behind his ear. "I just want you to know, if I can help you with you-know-what, just tell me."

"And what is _you-know-what_?" a cold voice asked.

The blonde Slytherin's smile slid off his face when he saw Black slowly approaching. "Wh-Why…" He swallowed. "I don't think I should tell you, Black."

"Do you?" He crossed his arms and smirked. "But I'm curious now, what do you know about Potter, Sluggy? C'mon, tell me. Because, if you don't, I'm going to be sad. I thought you told me we were friends this morning and there should be no secret between friends. Aren't we friends, Sluggy?"

The blonde started sweating. "O-Of course we are b-but-"

"Why, I'm even going to believe you don't want to tell me because _you don't know_."

Harry frowned and turned his head to look at the rapidly paling wizard. "I-I d-"

"But do you know what I know? I know that _you_ are the one responsible for yesterday's incident in the Common Room. So if you don't want me to use this-" Black tapped at the Prefect badge on his robe. "-you should leave before I decide to remember I'm supposed to give you detention."

He didn't need to tell him twice.

When the boy left the corridor, Black crossed his arms and sighed. "I said you should get help from the right wizards, I _didn't_ say you should go scrapping the bottom of the cauldron." He rolled his eyes. "Sluggy, honestly."

"Sluggy."

He waved his hand. "That's how we call him. He seems to believe that's because we like him. He has been following me like glue ever since he came here. And Dumbledore. And now you. Sorry to tell you, but he'll come back. It's bad enough he's in our year now…" He sighed.

Harry frowned. "I thought he was a Fourth Year." He looked young enough to be.

"He should be." He sighed again. "But, apparently, he asked to jump a year and his demand was granted."

Harry blinked. "You can jump a year?"

Black rolled his eyes. "No. Unfortunately for everybody, he's found a way to get in anyway." He cursed under his breath. "He did it on purpose, didn't he?" he whispered.

"Who did?" Harry couldn't help asking.

"Doesn't matter," Black said. "Still, I should probably warn you that it's only going to get worse."

Harry startled. "What?"

Black slowly smirked. "I don't know if you know, but Dumbledore is rather well-known here. He's won a few prizes for Hogwarts, he is rather well-liked, he is the best student this school has ever seen… some even say he's going to be the next Merlin."

Harry shrugged.

" _And yet_ ," Black told him, "some mysterious wizard nobody knows has managed to defeat him in a wizarding duel. What do you think everybody is thinking right now?"

Harry thought about it. He stilled.

Black sneered at the sight of Harry's horrified face. "If you were trying to be discreet, I'm sorry to say you failed. Quite spectacularly in fact."

Harry stammered.

"I don't even think you can salvage this," he pretended to think. "Especially since Dumbledore will do anything to have a rematch."

Harry hid his face between his hands and mentally counted to ten. Thrice.

"I'm curious though. Is it true that you are the Heir of Slytherin?" Black smirked when Harry swore. "Don't ask me why Slytherin and not Gryffindor. Somebody said that's what the divination cards showed."

Harry considered screaming.

"Now, what are you going to do?"

Harry uncomprehendingly looked at the Slytherin. "What?"

"I'm curious. What are you going to do now that you know?" The prefect crossed his arms. "Will you prove them they're right? Will you fail and everybody will say you're a fraud?"

Running away screaming was the very first thing that came to his mind. Praying Black was exaggerating was another. Finding a way to leave this bloody century too, as soon as possible. He had hoped nobody would remark him, but apparently even that was nothing but a faraway dream.

He wanted to scream at the injustice of everything that had happened to him ever since he had had his vision of Sirius being tortured, he wanted to destroy everything he could grab. He wanted to give up, to go find Dumbledore and shout at him that this entire mess was his fault and that he had better fix everything on the spot or he would hex him.

Except it wasn't really this Dumbledore's fault, was it? He couldn't help thinking. It was mostly his because he hadn't paid attention to Snape and his occlumency lessons and because he hadn't listened to Hermione that he was in this mess. It was because he hadn't even bothered to think about the problem for a second he was there.

So, this time, Harry decided to really think about the problem at hand.

"Will you run away now that the eyes of the entire school are on you? Because I doubt you wanted anybody to know you're here. Will you ask _somebody_ to help you deal with that?"

But Harry wasn't looking at Black smirking. He was too focused about what this all meant to him. He had beaten Baby Dumbledore in a duel and now people thought he was some great and powerful wizard because of that.

"So what? What are you going to do?"

Finally, Harry sighed. If he really thought about it, there was only one choice he had. "I'll deal with it."

"Yes, obviously. But how?"

Harry slowly shrugged. "I'll tell them the truth."

And the more he was thinking about it, the more ridiculous the problem seemed to be. Everybody said he had beaten the great Albus Dumbledore in a duel?

"I'll tell them that even Albus Dumbledore can make mistakes. No big deal."

Black's smirk stilled.

It didn't really matter who everybody believed him to be and whatever stories they were cooking, he realized. To him, he had just won a duel against an arrogant Fifth Year. It was nothing noteworthy. It wasn't Voldemort, it wasn't his Death Eaters. Harry had just helped a teacher with her class and managed to disarm his opponent because he had played with him and Harry had been pissed.

"If they think I'm some extremely skilled or powerful wizard because I beat him, I'll tell them they're missing the point. In Defence Against the Dark Arts, it's not the necessarily most powerful one who wins. It's the one who doesn't underestimate the one in front of him even when that person seem harmless to somebody like him"

Why, even a baby could defeat the most terrible dark wizard of the century. To Harry Potter there was nothing new under the sun. Hell, it even was a downgrade.

Harry couldn't stop a smile when he saw the prefect's dumbfounded face. "And if you think that it's going to change anything, that I'm going to try to bask in the attention, that I can't handle a few rumours or I that will ask for help, then you don't know me at all."

And after the mess that had been his Fifth Year, this was nothing.

The Slytherin stared at him for a few seconds. After several second, he lowered his head. And, shoulders shaking, he began to laugh.

"You're quite something, aren't you?" He widely smiled before laughing again. "I thought this year was going to be boring but apparently not. This is going to be quite entertaining to watch, isn't it?"

Before Harry could blink, the wizard turned his back and started walking away. "If I'm right you have a week. So enjoy it before you get in trouble."

Harry startled. "A week before what?"

But the prefect never answered.

* * *

At the other side of the castle, another confrontation was taking place.

"What, you think you can go walk around the castle as you please?" a Slytherin sneered to a group of First Years. "I don't think so. You see, we don't like Gryffindors around here."

A girl from Gryffindor uncomprehendingly looked at the Slytherin and the two others behind him. "B-But- we need to-"

"-go to class? Tough." He took his wand and pointed at the kids who took a step back. "Now, why don't we show these _Gryffindors_ what we do to those like them?"

"How about you don't?"

The girl blinked, looked behind and watched as an older student went past them and faced the Slytherin.

"Leave them alone, Goyle."

"Dumbledore," Goyle sneered.

"You leave them alone," the wizard slowly hissed. "Better, you and your goons leave. Right now."

"Or what?" The Slytherin crossed his arms. "What are you going to do? Go crying for help?"

Dumbledore bristled.

"Mister Dumbledore?" The girl softly said, "It's okay. We'll just go."

" _You shouldn't_ _have_ to go."

"We-We're going to be late for Charms," she tried. And we're not really sure where the classroom is."

The man closed his blue eyes and sharply inhaled. "Fine. I'll show you." He opened them and pointed an accusing finger at the now smirking wizard. "But don't think I'll forget this."

The group of Gryffindors turned away and started leaving.

"Sure, sure. Dumbledore, the knight. Dumbledore, the defender of the innocents and the poor little Gryffindors," Goyle taunted. "Dumbledore, the son of the same wizard who attacked two muggles."

The boy's shoulders tensed.

"I wonder how it is like when you go see him in Azkaban," he cruelly said with a smirk at the wizard who had turned back and was walking in his direction. "He must be so ashamed of you. Defending mudbloods when he-"

Dumbledore punched him.

"Don't fight!" the girl shrieked when the two other Slytherins started attacking the wizard who started to punch left and right. "Please, don't fight!"

But fight they did, and even thought it was three against one, the Gryffindor kept attacking, never giving an inch to his opponents.

For a moment, he even thought he was going to win. Two down, only Goyle was left.

And then reality came back when he heard Albus' horrified scream.

"Aberforth! What on earth are you doing?"


	8. The other Dumbledore

"They deserved it!" Aberforth shouted out as he entered Gryffindor's Common Room where a few students started raising their head.

"Two days. You haven't been back for two days and you've already got in a fight. That is a record, even for you."

"They were bullying the First Years!"

"And as the brave knight in shining armour I have no doubt you are, you defended them," Albus remarked. "The same way, I'm sure you attacking these Fourth Years was the only possible mean you had to stop the bullying."

"Well, next time they'll think twice! People like them, that's the only way for them to understand."

Albus felt an headache coming and slowly started to massage his temples. "Aberforth, violence is _never_ the answer. You could have called me-"

"-yes, where were you by the way? Aren't you supposed to look after the Firsties, Mister the Great Prefect?"

He ignored the interruption. "You could have called a teacher, you could have left with the First Years, you could have talked to them and-"

" _Talk to them_? Under what rock are you living, Albus? You think that if I had asked nicely to stop bullying the Firsties, they would have said yes and stopped it? That they wouldn't have done it again as soon as I was gone? And everybody says you're the clever one?"

Albus sharply inhaled and tried not to grit his teeth.

"Sometimes, you've got to fight!" The younger wizard hit the table nearby with his fist. "If you don't show 'em what's gonna happen if they don't stop, they'll keep doing it!"

"Yes, yes, I get it. I now see the errors of my way. Truly, you have a way with words and are made to be in charge. Remind me to recommend you for prefect duties later."

"And end up like you?" Aberforth snorted as he unceremoniously fell on the sofa facing his brother. "No, thank you."

Lord, give him strength.

"So what now?" Aberforth lied on the sofa and crossed him arms. "Punishment. What do I get? Come on, do your worst. We both know you want to punish me."

"I don't!" he protested.

"Really? That's good I suppose. Well then, go back to your books and stop bothering me."

That being said, Aberforth turned in the sofa and Albus was now facing his brother's back.

Albus deeply inhaled once more and tried to pretend the entire room wasn't looking at them.

"Aberforth, in case you have not noticed, you attacked three Fourth Years in broad daylight and in front of what was near the end a rather impressive crowd. You have to understand, I have to punish you."

"Says who?"

"If I don't," he lowered his voice so only the two of them could hear him, "many will say there was favouritism because you're my little brother."

And Albus couldn't allow that. While it was true that he had no wish of giving detention to anybody, he still had to show he could handle any problem coming his way and insure no Gryffindor would start attacking other students whenever his back was turned. They haven't been back to school for a week and Albus already had to prove to the rest of the school there would be consequences for such misbehaviour and that he would never allow favouritism or reward anybody for breaking rules.

Aberforth snorted.

It was just his luck that it was Aberforth he would have to use to set an example.

The younger Dumbledore turned back. "So what is that gonna be? A night in the dungeons upside down? Shackles? The whip?"

Or he could write lines. Or even help the caretaker with cleaning the school. That should work too.

"Hurry up, I don't have all day."

Albus suddenly felt exhausted. "Do we really have to do that? Can't we… Can't we just…"

Aberforth looked at his brother in the expectative.

"Just…" Albus sighed and finally chose to drop it. "Just clean the trophies in the trophy room. That should be enough."

Aberforth looked at him for a few more seconds and looked away. "Fine, fine," he mumbled

"And please stop getting into fights."

"I'm making no promise." The younger Dumbledore took a glance at the older one. "I suppose I can try though," he mumbled.

Albus supposed that would have to be enough for now. "It's not… I'm not saying I'm not glad to see you've taken a shine to our First Years," he told him. "Because, I am. I had no doubt I could count on you to keep an eye on them. I'm just asking you to please stop trying to fix everything with your fists and to instead use the brain I know you have."

Aberforth gave a humourless smile. "Do you really?"

Albus ignored him. "You could for example… You could for example help them with their Charms homework. You're good at Charm, are you not? I'm sure they'll appreciate you helping them with their homework when they come back."

For a few seconds, his brother eyed at him. Finally, he looked away. "Fine, fine. I suppose I can do that. Now leave me alone."

And Aberforth crossed his arms and childishly pretended Albus wasn't here.

He had been so nice when he was four, Albus couldn't help but lament. Sadly, gone were the days when his little brother would follow him like some lost owl and try to be like him. Now at thirteen, it seemed like all Aberforth could do was to get into a few fights with the first Slytherins goading him and act like Albus was the worst being on earth because he didn't condone his notion of 'heroism'.

"You had Care of Magical Creatures today, didn't you?" he lightly asked in an attempt to change subject.

Aberforth grunted what Albus decided to take as an affirmative.

"How did you find the class?"

"It was okay." He paused. "We studied Bowtruckles."

He clapped his hands in delight. "Fascinating little creatures, are they not?"

"Yeah, I suppose they are." He stole a look at him. "Is it true you got beaten in a duel?"

Albus' good mood vanished. "So you have already heard about it," he remarked as he put his hands in his pockets. A glance at the rest of the room showed that they were still listening to them. When his right hand found the comforting touch of his wand, he casted a spell to finally get some privacy.

His brother slowly smirked. "I bet you cried when that happened."

"I do not cry, Aberforth."

"Well, you're not harassing that great duellist to learn how to get better." He shrugged. "That means you got upset."

"Actually, _he_ is the one who got upset."

And the new student was now avoiding him for no discernible reason. He had seen him leaving the library but considering the foul mood he was in, Albus hadn't bothered trying to ask for clarifications.

Aberforth raised his eyebrows. "Alright, what did you do?"

* * *

When Harry faced the Fat Lady, he couldn't stop himself from releasing a sigh.

If what Black had told him was true, he had a pretty good idea what was going to happen. And, although he more or less knew what he was going to do, he wasn't keen to face it.

He had done nothing wrong, he mentally repeated as he gave her the password. It was Dumbledore who was at fault. It was Dumbledore who had forced him to help Professor Merrythought. And if anybody asked him anything about that bloody duel, he'd tell them what he told Black.

When the blonde Weasley smiled at him, Harry tried to believe that wasn't because the student wanted to interrogate him.

"We thought you'd come here as soon as class was over. You didn't get lost, I hope. A few First Years got lost yesterday. Dumbledore helped them find the Common Room and seemed to have taken them under his wing. But…" He shrugged. "Well, it was too good to be true, I suppose."

Harry frowned. "He was with me yesterday and I don't remember any First Year getting lost."

"Eh? What are you- Ah! No, no." He shook his head. "I don't mean Albus, I mean Dumbledore." Seeing Harry's frown, he pointed behind him. "Look."

When Harry turned his head, it was not one Dumbledore he saw but _two_.

Harry rubbed his eyes but there were still two Dumbledores talking.

After the initial shock of the discovery, Harry realized that, no, Dumbledore hadn't found a way to clone himself. While it was true both wizards looked stunningly alike, the one on the sofa's hair were shorter and only reached his ears than the one standing had hair that reached his shoulders. Also, it seemed like the one sitting was younger.

"The one on the sofa is Aberforth Dumbledore, Albus' little brother," the blonde Weasley explained. "Third Year, a rather decent wizard but a bit too eager to get into fights. You missed the confrontation between the two by the way. Albus has been trying to teach him how to be less hot-headed ever since he got here. So far, it's a failure." He shrugged. "I suppose you'll see other confrontations, the little brother tends to misbehave. Between you and me, when I look at them, I'm glad to be an only child."

Harry couldn't stop an incredulous smile at that confession.

"I've seen you were a pretty good duellist."

Harry sighed and mentally braced himself. "I suppose so."

"I suppose you must have had a good teacher."

Harry couldn't stop a nervous laugh. "Actually no." Seeing the wizard's puzzled face, he felt forced to say: "I've had bad teachers most of the time."

"It didn't look like it. I mean-" The blonde Weasley bemusedly smiled. "You won your duel, did you not?"

Harry grimaced and tried to wave it away. "I was part of some defence group but that was because our teacher was horrible."

Considering the look in the other Gryffindor was now giving him, that was the wrong thing to say.

"A defence group?" He seemed to be excited at the idea. "Which one were you in?"

"Oh, I doubt you have heard of it." He tried to deflect. Seeing it had little effect, he added, "It was just me and a couple of friends. That's it." Seeing the boy was about to ask for more, he looked around for an escape.

Sadly, it was clear the rest of the room –minus the two Dumbledores- was actively listening and that no help was going to come.

"And you know, we liked our privacy," he started fibbing. "Like we were really, really shy. I'm not even sure I should tell you about the DA really."

"Why not? Isn't the point of a Defence group to gather the most people and teach them? It's not as if you were doing anything illegal." He startled and strangely looked at him. "You weren't doing anything illegal, right? Like, you were not learning the Dark Arts or stuff like that, right?"

Harry considered screaming. "Our teacher was horrible," he gritted his teeth. "She didn't want to teach us and anybody learning how to defend themselves got punished. We learnt Defence Against the Dark Arts _despite_ our teacher. She was never supposed to find out, got it? We just- We just learnt how to defend ourselves. A few expelliarmus, a couple reductos, one or two stunners… Things like that, you see."

To Harry's relief, the blonde Weasley seemed to believe him.

"Sorry. It's just… Albus is such a big deal here that the one who managed to defeat him in a duel must have learned great magic, or-or be a very good wizard part of some of the finest defence group."

Harry rolled his eyes. "If I learnt one thing when it comes to Defence, it's that it doesn't really matter how good your opponent is."

The blonde incredulously looked at him but Harry was too focused on what he was saying to notice.

"You've always got a chance to win the fight. You just…" He grimaced. "You just need to learn how to take it."

That was what he had tried to teach the DA mostly. There had been a few spells there and there but as Hermione has told him, that wasn't why she had asked him to teach them. Mostly, he had tried teach them how to keep going despite the raging terror, the horrifying realization their lives were on the line and there would be no second chance.

The last couple of days felt like that, in a way. Harry was terrified and he had absolutely no idea what he was supposed to do. Still, he knew he wasn't allowed to fuck up. He knew he had to grit his teeth and keep going until he could see some sliver of hope.

"Besides, even…" Harry wondered how he should call the young Dumbledore for a few seconds and ultimately gave up. "Even your friend can make mistakes. You heard Merrythought, right? He's made many, I just knew how to take the opportunities he gave me. He's a student too, you know? Like, okay he's good but he's just a good student. So, no, I'm not some great wizard."

And when finally he found it, Harry was going to take it in both hands.

"I'm just… I'm just your average wizard, just passing by."

* * *

Aberforth whistled. " _No wonder_ he's angry at you."

"Aberforth, you do not understand-"

"What were you even trying to do? Like, you must have your reasons to play this dirty-"

"I was not playing-"

"-but look at it from his point of view. He doesn't know you, why should he believe you're not that kind of wizard? And, seriously, what kind of bastard pretend to cast an unforgiveable at somebody?"

"Aberforth," Albus calmly tried to explain, "you need to understand that very few wizards our age know what the Killing Curse looks like."

"Except he does. He does and so do you." Aberforth raised his head and looked at the wizards in the room. "Which one is he by the way? Is he the one with that stupid hair?"

"That's him." He looked at the wizard talking to a rather wide-eyed Arthorius. A spell casted under his breath allowed him to hear their conversation and he couldn't help a sigh.

"What? What did he say?" Aberforth demanded.

Albus considered not answering but he suspected he'd find out soon enough. "Apparently, I made many mistakes and am just a good student."

Needless to say, it was not surprising that the first thing Aberforth said was: "I like him. No, really," he continued, "finally somebody here who doesn't kiss the ground you walk on." The boy slyly smiled. "You're just a good student and you messed up."

Albus slowly crossed his arms and tried not to show his annoyance.

Truth be told, he was getting slightly put out by all this story. He had tried to be nice to the new Gryffindor and even helpful ever since he came here and so far the wizard had treated him like dirt. He had forgiven his attitude on his first night here, blaming some possibly rough travel, but now he was treating him like some horrible wizard just because of one little duel.

And it was like he has decided that the answer to him winning against him was to put Albus down and say he wasn't that good. It was rather terrible sportsmanship in his opinion and, had the roles been reversed, Albus would have insured the others knew he had duelled remarkably. But no, apparently, it was on his mistakes that the wizard was focusing on.

And that fake modesty. That was perhaps the worst thing. Albus didn't know who he was trying to fool but nobody was going to buy it. Nobody.

Albus pinched his nose and finally decided to just go and apologize for whatever mistake the other student believed him to be guilty. Maybe the two of them would never be friends but it would be better if they were not at odds with each other.

Besides, Albus couldn't help thinking, he was rather confident the two of them would duel again.

And this time, he had every intention not to underestimate him and win.

* * *

When Harry finally managed to leave the blonde Weasley's side and somehow calmed the game, it was to go nose to nose with Dumbledore.

"If I may Harry?"

Harry couldn't help but glare at the prefect. "What now?"

The red-haired bemusedly smiled. "I just wanted to apologize for earlier. I see I've upset you and that was not my intention."

Harry startled and uneasily looked away. "Why… Why did you even do that?" he couldn't help asking. "What was the bloody point?"

Because he saw no reason why Albus Dumbledore would go for such underhanded tactic. It felt cheap and Harry may not know the wizard really but that truly seemed out of character to play this dirty.

The prefect seemed to hesitate for a few seconds. "I suppose you're referring to the colouring charm. You need to understand that this is a valid feint in many duelling circuits." Harry rolled his eyes at that but the wizard insisted, "I know now that you're not used to duelling but at the time I didn't know and treated you like any duellist would-"

"He wanted to see if you were going to dodge, I think," a voice interrupted.

Dumbledore closed his eyes and deeply inhaled as he put his hands in his pockets. "Aberforth," he told the wizard still on the sofa, "how many times have I told you not to eavesdrop?"

But Aberforth ignored his brother. "He does that sometimes," he explained. "He puts traps just to see how you're going to react. Trick questions if you like."

"If that is because of last year, you perfectly know that I already-"

"So what?" Harry cut the conversation and wasn't displeased to notice the prefect had startled at the interruption. "I wasn't supposed to react and this was just some stupid test?"

"Looks like it."

Anger slowly started to build. "I wonder… Did I pass?" he spat. "Which mark do I get? Because it really feels like you've been testing me ever since I came here."

Dumbledore grimaced and Harry knew he's hit bullseye.

Before Harry could explode he said, "I just wanted you to feel at ease. If you had trouble with any class, I wanted to help you to get better. So yes I suppose from a certain point of view that I tested you. But that's all it was and I only did this to help you."

Harry couldn't help but startle at the revelation. "W-Well… I-I suppose I can understand that," he reluctantly admitted.

The prefect didn't have to do that and he was aware that, had he been utterly lost with these lessons that he would have even been grateful.

"But the colouring charm was petty," he couldn't help adding.

Dumbledore sighed. "If you are that upset I did that feint, then I deeply apologize but-"

"Who died?"

Harry froze and slowly turned to the second Dumbledore.

"Albus told me he was using non-verbal magic earlier and that, while you apparently handled yourself remarkably, you had no idea which spells he was using. And yet you thought you saw an Unforgiveable because of how the spell looked like." He shrugged. "Nobody recognizes a spell by sight alone in a split second unless they've seen it at work."

Albus stilled.

Harry stared at the younger Dumbledore for a few seconds, unable to even think. "That doesn't mean somebody died."

Aberforth shrugged. "Sure. But considering your face I think I'm right, am I not?"

Harry bit his tongue and looked away.

Albus, in his defence, looked horrified. "Oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't-" He grimaced. "I've never intended to bring back bad memories or hurt you in any way."

Aberforth rolled his eyes. "Well, big new for you, you did."

"I just wanted to…" He sighed. "I suppose it doesn't really matters. I clearly didn't think this through and I hurt you. For that I'm sorry."

Harry, not used to have people apologizing to him, grimaced. What was he supposed to do now? "Well… Don't do it again. And…" Harry tried to find something else to say and came empty-handed. "Just don't do that," he concluded.

"I won't," he promised in a small voice.

He suddenly felt exhausted. It was barely eight and all Harry wanted was to go to bed and be left alone.

With a sigh, Harry left the chagrined wizard and headed to the dormitories to do just that.

He really hoped tomorrow wouldn't be like the last two days.

* * *

Day three Harry groggily thought as he woke up the next morning. He's been stuck in the past for three days.

It felt like centuries really. Sometimes, it even felt like Harry was stuck in a rather bizarre dream and he just needed to find a way to wake up.

But no, he woke up and he _was_ in the past. He had time-travelled and only had his wand and whatever he had in his pockets when the accident with the time turners happened.

Harry at that thought absent-mindedly searched his pockets and retrieved what was inside.

First there was the pen knife Sirius had given him and which had suffered from his trip in the Department of Mysteries. Then there was the badge he got at the Ministry of magic where was written 'Harry Potter. Rescue mission' and the DA coin.

"How the bloody hell am I supposed to get back?" he murmured as he starting playing with the fake galleon in his hand.

After a few minutes, he put the galleon in his pocket and turned in his bed to face the jar where the butterfly from two days ago was resting.

With a sigh, he took the jar and went to the nearest window. He then opened it and the lid of the jar.

The emerald butterfly slowly left the jar and started flying around him.

"He seems to like you."

Harry turned his head and sighed when he saw the already dressed prefect. "I stepped on it."

"I'm sure he knows that was an accident," Albus said as Harry started to wave his hands so that the butterfly would leave him and head for the window. "And you saved him, didn't you? I'm sure he's grateful."

Harry rolled his eyes as the butterfly finally left. "It's a butterfly," he said as he closed the window.

Albus looked at his bed. "You really have nothing, don't you? You're even sleeping in yesterday's robe."

Harry tried to remember which lie he had given. "My luggage got lost. I'll buy some replacement during the weekend."

Harry tensed when the wizard pointed his wand at him. With a swish of the prefect's wand, his robe's wrinkles vanished. "You know," he remarked, "I would have let you borrow some nightclothes had I know it was that dire."

Harry shrugged. "Slipped my mind." He hesitated. "Also, you were nice enough to help me with the rest. I wasn't going to push it."

Albus smiled. "If it may reassure you, I gave you my least favourite quill." He looked once more at the bed. "What is that?" He slowly took in his hand Sirius' gift. "It doesn't feel like a normal pen knife."

"Oh, it was charmed."

Albus put his wand over the pen knife and started whispering something. He whistled. "Fascinating," he breathed. "I've never seen anything charmed like this before. May I ask where you bought it?"

Harry shrugged. "It was a gift. I kinda liked it."

"I can see why, it is high quality. It really a pity it is broken. Truly, you must have been facing a rather stubborn lock for the blade to melt." Seeing Harry's face he chuckled as he showed him the pen knife. "The enchantments are still here. I don't know how the creator managed to wave so many on such a small item but it's rather obvious what it was meant to do. I suppose you don't have to worry about losing your keys when you have that. Although, I suppose you did need the key for the lock that destroyed it. It's such a pity you lost that one, that lock must have been protecting something quite valuable."

Harry tried to look as innocent as possible.

Considering the twinkles in the prefect's eyes, he failed.

"I suppose it died for a good cause," Albus finally said. "Well, I say it died… I suppose somebody can fix it if they know what to do." He smiled. "I'll be honest, I don't but I can try to resuscitate your pen knife if you want."

Harry startled. "Really?"

"I'm not making any promise but I can try."

"You don't have to do that."

"I know," he told him. "But I do feel sorry for hurting you yesterday and I want to apologize properly. And also, I admit I am partly proposing out of self-interest. I'm rather fascinated by that pen knife and it will be a good mean for me to see how it works."

After grimacing at the memory of the duel, Harry shrugged. "You can try if you want."

It wasn't like it could hurt he thought as the red-haired pocketed the pen knife, it was already good for the bin after all.

It was at that moment that Elphias got up and started animatedly chatting with Albus.

Harry amusedly shook his head and began heading for breakfast.

It looked like day three was going to be better that the last previous days.

Hopefully, he hadn't just jinxed it.


	9. The calm before the storm

"Darkness is upon you. In fact, the only thing I see in your future is darkness everywhere. Be careful next week for this may be the last time you are among us if you are not."

Harry fought a groan when he heard the other students' horrified gasps as Professor Mesmer finished his apparently weekly prediction.

Of course he was the lucky bloke who got his future revealed.

"Is there a way to prevent it, sir?" Elphias fearfully asked.

"Nope." Mesmer left the chair facing Harry and lazily put his hands in his pockets. "It is far too late for Mister Potter. The Darkness is coming back and there is no mean to stop his course. And I think he will be bloodthirsty."

Black, face grim, raised his hand. "Do you have a date for his return, sir?"

Professor Mesmer smiled and turned to the Slytherin Prefect. "Ah, you're curious! Good, good. Forewarned is indeed forearmed. Which is why Divination is the best course to study for those who want to plan and reach their goal without much hassle." He winked at the boy. "As for the date, let me see… I am rather confident the Darkness will come on the day of the moon."

Black solemnly nodded.

"Rather fitting, I have to admit. Act accordingly that day, Mister Black. Although… I'm sorry to tell you that what you fear is going to happen."

Black ticked but didn't ask for any clarification this time.

"Now, I wonder…" The Divination Professor looked around the room. "Why has nobody opened their bag and retrieved their quill?"

The students frowned and looked at each other.

"Why would we?" a Slytherin witch asked. "We _never_ use our quill."

"We don't." He nodded. "Except…"

The students started whispering among themselves. Black groaned.

"Don't tell me-" Seeing the older man's sly smile, he rolled his eyes. "We have a surprise test, don't we?"

"Correct!" He cheerfully exclaimed over the students' horrified gaps as with a swish of his wand a blackboard appeared behind him. "You should have all foreseen this! Now, you have fifteen minutes to answer the questions but let me tell you this: you didn't start well."

Harry groaned as he retrieved a quill and thanked a sweating Elphias when he gave him enough parchment to do the test.

When he raised his head, he finally noticed there wasn't anything written on the blackboard.

"Now, as it is the beginning of the year, we will start easy. You are not allowed to take your books but if you need anything in the classroom to answer my questions, feel free to use it. Yes, Mister Doge?"

"You have forgotten to write the questions, sir."

"Have I?" He glanced in the direction of the blackboard, face pensive. "Ah yes, I understand what you mean." He hummed for a couple of seconds. Finally, he snapped his fingers. "But you're wrong, Mr. Doge."

Elphias pensively tilted his head.

"In case you have forgotten, this is not your regular magical class." His lips curled. " _Meaning_ , my dear students, that you are also supposed to foresee the questions that are going to be on the blackboard! And you must answer them _before_ they are all written down!"

Harry's jaw dropped while the other students gasped in horror.

"Let the Third Eye reveal you the way to succeed in your endeavour!" he happily finished. "Now, I need to write the correction," he said under his breath as a few students got up and reached for the decks of Tarot cards on the shelves.

Harry dazedly blinked and unconsciously got up, wondering how _on hell_ Hermione would have reacted to that.

She would have been outraged, he thought as he followed the other students to the shelves. He couldn't stop a smile at the thought of her wide-eyed face and her muttering Divination was a lot of rubbish.

Oh well, Harry thought as he took a crystal ball under his arm and went back to his seat, it wasn't as if he expected to have a good mark.

As he posed the crystal ball on the table, he noticed many students were using Tarot cards. With febrile hands, they would turn the cards and grimace whenever they didn't get the card Harry suspected they wanted. A couple of them were sporting strange coloured glasses and were intently fixing the blackboard as if they would manage to see what had yet to be written.

"Careful with my spectacles," Professor Mesmer raised his head and frowned. "They're very fragile. You know what? Give them back. You can't use them. Anything else is free game, however."

Harry turned his attention to the crystal ball, wondering if the answers were actually going to appear if he squinted hard enough.

"Five minutes left. Well, I think. Mister Weasley, how long do we still have?"

"T-Ten, sir."

"Oh really? Ten points from Gryffindor. I hate liars, Mister Weasley. Mister Doge?"

"Six, sir." Elphias said after checking his watch.

"Alright," he took his wand and a countdown started appearing. "When it rings, test is over."

A few students cursed under their breath and Harry gave up any pretence he was going to get anything but a zero. With a sigh, he dropped his quill and started looking around him.

It seemed like Elphias and many other students had given up trying to foresee the questions and were now writing the very first thing on their mind in hope the correct answer would be in the middle of their febrile writing. Some were on the verge of tears as they tried one last time to look at their crystal ball.

"I would have thought you would be some divination genius, considering yesterday," Professor Mesmer remarked as he posed his hand on Harry's shoulder who startled. "Oh well, you just need to be taught properly, I suppose."

Before Harry could say anything, the wizard had already left his side to go back to the desk in the front of the class.

Harry turned his attention back to the blank blackboard and sighed. What now? Mesmer thought he was a seer too? Just because he had fainted the day before, was that enough to become a seer?

He had thought Professor Trelawney was strange, but this class was even weirder and that was saying something.

He stole a glance at the wizard to see Black was giving him his copy. Mesmer looked at it and smiled.

"Oh, you Slytherin," he said, voice full of admiration.

But Black wasn't listening to him. Already he was taking the chalk on Professor Mesmer's desk and walking in the direction of the blackboard.

 _'Question 1:'_ he started writing, ' _What is written on Question 2_?

' _Question 2: What is written on Question 1?_ '

When he posed the chalk and walked back to his seat, the countdown showed there were two minutes left.

"Excellent," Professor Mesmer said as he got up. "Still, I'm afraid you made a mistake, Mister Black. A rather big mistake," he told him as he took the chalk and started waving it over the countdown. "You see, Mister Black, when you attempt something like that there is one thing you need to keep in mind."

And without further ceremony, he wrote: ' _Question 3: How many questions are there in this test_?'

The countdown reached zero.

"Timing." He smiled as the alarm started ringing. "You gave me far too much time to add another question. Now, correction!" He cheerfully clapped his hands. "I won't insult you: I think you can figure the correct answers on your own. So who found the questions and gave the correct answers?"

The students awkwardly looked at each other.

"So it's zero for everybody but Mister Black?" Professor Mesmer pretended to think. "I suppose I may decide not take into account this test. Just this time. Still, ten points to Slytherin. That was well-played."

He crossed his arms and smiled at the class. "Did you honestly believe you were going to see the answers in your crystal ball or if you tilted your head just the correct way? You'd need to be a seer for that. Why, even I was surprised. I got nothing until the last six minutes. Do you want to know why? Because until that very moment, none of you considered writing something on the blackboard."

"I've never intended to write anything until Mister Black forced my hand," he admitted. "I just couldn't be bothered. And if I was not going to do it and if none of you thought about doing it, the blackboard would have stayed blank. It's that easy. Had you given me a blank copy, you would have had a passing mark. Unfortunately for you, Mister Black cracked my little test so this potential future got lost. But if there is nothing to be seen, then do not pretend there is anything to see! Don't waste your time trying to get something out of nothing!"

"But there _is_ something," a student stubbornly whispered.

"There is now," he corrected. "There wasn't then. You just need action to change the future, or the possibility of one. And with his action, Mister Black traced another path. Now, I know what you're thinking." He pointed in Harry's general direction. "If I do not do anything, nothing is going to change, right? Not necessarily true. I mean, I said I wasn't going to write anything but Mister Black decided he wanted to write something. You are not the only player here, and _they_ may decide to react to your inaction. Never believe the future is fixed," he warned. "Only very precious moments are. The rest of the time, the only thing you will ever see are possibilities. A picture of what the future may be _at this very instant_. It may become the present someday if nothing changes but you better hope everything is going to go according to the plan. So if you decide to navigate the flow of time, do not forget the road you're taking is hazardous and you may take a wrong turn if you're not careful." He looked thoughtful. "Personally, I recommend taking a map."

But the students were still upset at the discovery Professor Mesmer wasn't going to teach them some fool proof way to predict who would win the next Quidditch World Cup.

He sighed. "Mister Potter, would you please check your breast pocket?"

With a frown, Harry did as he was told. He stilled.

Slowly, he unfolded the paper in his hand.

 _Question 1: What is written on Question 2?  
Question 2: What is written on Question 1?_

 _(optional) Question 3: How many questions are there in this test?_

Mesmer smiled under Harry's incredulous staring. "What can I say? I have a friend who is very good with sleights of hand."

* * *

Albus raised his eyebrows when he saw his friend's pitiful state. "Alright, what did Professor Mesmer foresee this time?"

Elphias hesitated and stole a look at the new student who seemed to be rather unnerved.

"Darkness is upon him," he murmured. "If he does not… embrace it and go with the flow, he will leave us."

"Ah."

There were many 'predictions' Professor Mesmer has made since Albus was here but this was by far the vaguest.

"I am rather confident Harry will be fine, Elphias."

"His predictions always come true, Albus. _Always_."

Yes, he always left enough wiggle room for these to inevitably come true.

"And there is nothing to be done, I suppose." Seeing Elphias weakly shaking his head, he added, "In this case, we should ensure that Harry enjoys his time here just in case he leaves and hope that he will make the… the 'right' choice when the time comes. Why should we focus on a disagreeable future if we cannot prevent it? We should focus on the present, don't you think?"

Elphias sighed. "I suppose you're right," he mumbled as they entered the Charms classroom. "But why giving us a warning if there is nothing we can do?"

Albus tried to find something positive to say. "Maybe the goal is to ensure we enjoy the time we have to its fullest," he began musing. "Carpe diem. Enjoy the present because tomorrow may not be as kind as today."

Elphias thought about it for a few seconds. "You think so?"

Albus couldn't stop himself from amusedly shaking his head. "It's either that, or he enjoys messing with your minds."

Personally, he'd put the odds on the latter.

Elphias chuckled. "He loves doing this, doesn't he? Like, we had a surprise test and…" He had a faraway look. "A seer of his power, we must have looked like idiots when we tried to find out what was going to be the on the blackboard. I'm sure we must seem very gullible to him."

The red-haired chuckled. "You're the one who said it."

"He confirmed the new student is a seer by the way. Well, he strongly implied it." Seeing his friend raising an eyebrow, he explained, "I heard them talking during the test."

Albus blinked. Twice. He finally shook his head several times and entered the Charm classroom. He should focus on more interesting subjects than the latest drama in Divination.

Like that fabulous pen knife Harry owned. He would have to wait this evening to try to repair it and see how it was done but it was clear already this magical artefact was truly special. How the crafter did it, he didn't know yet but that person had to be extremely good at his craft.

He then remembered he actually had a potion to brew and he didn't know how long it would take him to fix this knife.

What should he focus on? That potion that would just maybe secure him a spot for the Young Potioneer Competition or that revolutionary pen knife?

Decisions, decisions.

* * *

To Harry's great relief, there wasn't anything noteworthy besides their Divination class that Thursday. And if Harry had once again tried his luck to tell Albus Dumbledore he was a time traveller, the prefect was always too busy doing one thing or another to give him some time when the two of them could be alone.

And without him noticing, it was the weekend. While it was true he didn't have a signed permission to leave the school, Professor Dippet had exceptionally allowed him to go to Diagon Alley and buy some change of clothes with the scholarship he had secured the very first night.

It was one galleon. For Harry who had been used to always have five during his shopping, this was unnerving and Harry finally understood what the Weasley had to feel when they were buying their children's school books. Worse, school having started, there were almost no second-hand books for Harry to buy and Harry literally cringed when he realized at the end of the day he only had one knut left.

Diagon Alley hadn't changed much, Harry thought as he finally left the bookshop to go back to school, his miserable knut in one hand and his bags of second-hand things in the other. Some shops were not in the same place but it was the same buildings, the same architecture and the Leaky Cauldron was already there, as if it stood in a place where time itself could not reach.

But if Harry just _dared_ to open the door to the muggle world…

Harry uneasily looked at said door innocently facing the fireplace Harry would use to go back to Hogwarts.

If he opened it, Harry would have no choice but to admit this was _not_ his time and that he had to stop trying to convince himself he had everything under control. If Harry opened the door and looked at the muggle world, it would hammer home the severity of the situation.

Ultimately, Harry chose the fireplace and closed his eyes so that he could stop looking at it when the green flames engulfed him.

He was a coward.

* * *

"It took me the entire weekend but I've finally managed to understand how your pen knife works." Albus grinned on Sunday evening in Gryffindor Common room, a spark of something that looked like madness in his eyes.

With his black robes sporting coloured stains, his uncombed hair, his face sporting several bruises and the numerous bandages on his fingers, the usually impeccably dressed wizard was in a rather sorry state. Hadn't he known better, Harry would have thought somebody had attacked him when Harry wasn't looking.

He made a very convincing mad genius, Harry had to admit.

"I first thought it was a succession of very intricate spells," he started babbling. "And that I just needed to estimate the precise magical power before casting my own accordingly. But that wasn't so! No, no, no, no! The crafter used _only one spell!_ "

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Just one."

Albus laughed. "Yes! I first thought it was an addition of rather common spells but that was because I was not looking at the bigger picture. These spells I thought I saw were just several threads the crafter _weaved_ together!"

Harry leaned against the chair he was sitting on. "Sorry, what?"

"He weaved them!" he repeated and leaned on the table between them. "That is why I had to pull the loose thread and remove the magic on it before I could attempt anything. That was the trickiest part, the crafter had put many defences against my attempts at fiddling with his creation. I was lucky the blade had melted or I would have needed to go to the infirmary. I was rather confident I've figured it out how he had managed this little miracle but, you know, the theory may be on point, there is always a risk something will go wrong when you finally put what you've learned into practice."

From his pocket, Albus retrieved said pen knife he put on the table. "It is not without some pride I admit that I can tell you this fabulous pen knife is fixed and ready to open any lock it will face." Harry took it and slowly started to examine the magical artefact.

It looked brand new, as if nothing had ever happened to it, and Harry had to admit he was rather pleased by the blade's edge. He didn't remember it being so good, he thought as a drop of blood left his thumb.

"Thank you very much," Harry told the prefect who nodded. "You really didn't have to do that."

He smiled. "I know, but I wanted to."

He couldn't help smiling back. "How can I thank you?"

" _Use it well_."

Harry stilled and couldn't help incredulously looking at the young man facing him.

"That's all you need to do really and-"

Harry suddenly snickered and the prefect stopped talking. And after a few failed attempts to contain himself, Harry finally burst to laugh.

He knew the fifteen years old Dumbledore couldn't get it, but he couldn't help it.

"You hand me something that is perfect for a robbery and all you have to say is: use it well?"

Albus' lips involuntarily turned upwards. "Yes, when you say it like that, I _do_ look like a terrible enabler. Not fit for somebody supposed to insure order here." He looked away and started chuckling himself. "Oh dear, I am a terrible influence."

And together, they started laughing.

Harry wondered if in December 1991, as he was wrapping Harry's invisibility cloak, Professor Dumbledore had remembered this moment and wrote these exact words on purpose.

* * *

It was raining on Monday. As if somebody up there knew something terrible was going to happen and wanted to set the scene for the tragedy that was about to unfold.

Many students stayed indoors, and the few who had to go outside let it be for Care of Magical Creatures, Herbology or even Flying couldn't help mumbling their displeasure and wondering if there existed a charm to control the weather.

But few were those who knew the rain was the least of their problem.

"So, I wanted to do something for All Hallows' Eve," Professor Mesmer began as he handed a piece of parchment to Professor Dippet, "and I managed thanks to my great powers to secure a one in a lifetime opportunity. It will without a doubt be an enlightening experience for my students and complete their magical education. And to top it all, it will not cost a single knut."

It had to be quite important, Professor Prince thought as he was drinking his coffee, it was not every day the Divination Professor would willingly go to the staffroom and tell them about whatever latest shenanigans he was planning.

The Deputy Headmaster raised his eyebrows when he read the parchment. "That sounds quite remarkable, Mesmer. If this is indeed true, you have outdone yourself."

"I have, haven't I?" His lips twitched. "And I had to act very fast. You do not have to worry about anything, I have everything on my end covered. All I need now is your little signature." He handed him a green quill. "Right at the bottom of this little contract."

Discretely, the Divination Professor stole a glance at the door.

Dippet slowly took the quill. "I'll sign it once I finish reading it. But I don't think there will be any problem with that."

The wizard's eyes started twitching and the Potion Professor who had been observing the two men raised an eyebrow. "Then you should sign it and read it at your leisure afterwards."

"That would be a terrible idea. I know you mean well, but as I am at the present moment responsible of any contract between the school and any third party, I need to insure everything is in order."

"It is," Mesmer curtly said. "And I don't have much time."

The man retrieved his glasses and put them on his nose. "Considering you are our resident seer, I have to admit this is funny to hear you say it."

* * *

It was the students outside who noticed first. And when they did, they started shaking in fear.

* * *

"It doesn't look like there is any problem," Dippet finally concluded.

"Like I said, I covered everything." Professor Mesmer handed him the green quill again. "Now if you could sign-"

But Binns began searching his pockets. "I need to make a copy of the present document first."

"Y-You can do it _after_ you sign it!"

"That's not the correct procedure, I'm afraid. Now, where did I put it?"

* * *

In Gryffindor Tower, a Second Year was running up the stairs.

She had to warn the others. Even if that was the last thing she was going to do, she had to warn her housemates.

* * *

Professor Prince looked at his colleagues. Dippet was now looking for some ink. Green wasn't apparently the proper colour to use. It had to be emerald.

'What is going on?' his eyes seemed to say.

Professor Mesmer gravelly looked at his childhood friend.

It was a testament of their friendship and their shared time as misbehaving students that he knew what that look meant.

And Prince left the room without even bothering to pick up his satchel.

* * *

When the Slytherin Fifth Year Prefect saw him, he just checked his watch.

He basically had thirty minutes.

* * *

Harry raised his head when he heard the door opening.

"He's back!" the girl shouted. "He's back! Code Black, he's back!"

"Oh shit!"

"No, no, no!"

"I thought I'd have more time!"

"Wait." Harry turned around and looked as Albus hurriedly started waving his red quill which turned white. "What's going on there?"

"He's back!" the girl repeated. "He's back and he will… he will…"

Albus posed his quill and started to talk over the brouhaha. "Everybody, it's alright! As long as we are in our quarters, there is no reason at all to worry. There is no need to overreact!"

* * *

"Well, that should be it." Dippet finished signing the last contract. "Now, I have to ask-"

Mesmer took the contract. "Thank you and goodbye!" He opened the door and look left and right. "Right it is then!"

* * *

"Who is back?" Harry asked the girl one more time.

"Y-You-Know-Who! You-Know-Who is back!"

Harry stared at her.

In one hand, he had been waiting for somebody to say that an entire year. In the other hand, this was way too early and nobody should have to say that.

"Who is You-Know-Who?" he finally asked.

The girl looked at him with something close to pity.

"A wizard with a heart as black as his name."

* * *

When the door opened, Dippet raised his head and couldn't stop a soft gasp.

"Oh, Headmaster! You're… You're back."

"As always, your talent to state the obvious is beyond measure," Phineas Nigellus Black curtly said. "I'm warning you, Dippet, I had a terrible day so I hope for you that you haven't done something unbelievably stupid while I was away."


	10. Black, Black, Black

Phineas Nigellus Black deeply inhaled. "To summarize," he slowly began, voice eerily calm, "some boy comes Merlin knows how to my school, you do not know where he comes from and he has no record in any school to show you. He has nothing on him but his wand, admits he does not have any money and he proposes to make a bet with you with at its key a place here, is that it?"

Professor Dippet hesitated. "Yes?"

"And the only thing you have to say to that is okay?" the Headmaster finally exclaimed. "Let's put a place in the most renowned school in the world as some prize to win in a fair? That boy is obviously a con-man but no! Let's give him money while we're at it! I actually thought I could trust you to reign this school while I was working in the Department of Mysteries but obviously this was too much to ask! A little magic trick and bam! Welcome to Hogwarts!"

"In fairness," Professor Dippet weakly tried, "it was a fully corporeal Patronus."

"I do not _care_ if that boy believes himself to be the next Merlin! There are rules, and nobody is above them! Yes, he can cast the Patronus charm. So what? Some good it is! You think that boy has actually _faced_ a Dementor? I bet he hasn't and this is just some magic trick he has learned to fool the impressible and weak minds!"

Dippet grimaced at the barely veiled insult.

"And let's not talk about that contract that Mesmer gave you!" He accusingly pointed in his direction. "Are you trying to turn Hogwarts into some circus?"

"But it is the-"

"I will try to use simple words," the Headmaster hissed. "Dippet, if Mesmer asked you to sign this contract when you were the acting Headmaster in my absence, it is because he _knew_ I was going to say no if he were to ask me. I do not _care_ about whatever excuse he gave you, he wanted to have his way so he took advantage of this moment and went after Hogwarts' weakest link."

Dippet winced. "I'm sure that is not it," he weakly tried.

"That's because you weren't his Head of House." He looked at the room. He finally spotted a satchel on the table and summoned it. "What else am I going to find?" he rhetorically asked as he opened it. "If Mesmer is up to no good, then so is Prince!" He stilled and, with a grim smile, retrieved several vials. "Brewing highly restricted potions for his personal use with Hogwart's school resources, is he? It's cheaper than buying the ingredients himself, I'm sure. Well, we are not his apothecary and I'm going to going to deduce that from his salary."

Dippet winced as the Headmaster pocketed the vials.

"I honestly believed I could trust you to keep everything in order when I was at the Department of Mysteries," Professor Black remarked. "Granted, that was highly optimistic of me to hope you could handle this but I had no idea even you could mess up that much in a week. Now, I hope for you that I will manage, somehow, to clean your mess, Dippet."

* * *

"You mean the Heamaster is Phi-"

"Shh!" The entire room hissed.

"Do _not_ say his name!" Elphias whispered.

Harry spluttered as Albus started massaging his temples.

"If you do," the blonde Weasley gravelly told him, "he will come after you."

"These are just coincidences," Albus slowly started shaking his head. "I very much doubt he put a taboo on his name. Or that this legend that says if you say the colour black three times the devil will come to collect your soul is based on any semblance of truth."

"Better be safe than sorry," Arthorius replied. "You-Know-Who-" Albus sighed. "You-Know-Who became Headmaster after the last one died under mysterious circumstances. _Very_ mysterious circumstances."

"It was dragon pox."

"That's what they want you to believe," the blonde Weasley gravelly replied. "He hated teaching, and he wanted the spot. He had motive." He turned his attention back to Harry. "If you are unlucky enough to see him, he will find a reason to punish you and take you points. You are out of bed? He will _always_ finds you. Thinking about breaking a school rule? He will break you first. And there are these _rumours_. Like the one which says that he eats the hearts of-"

"I think that is enough, thank you Arthorius," Albus interrupted. "Our esteemed Headmaster is indeed a rather strict man and it is preferable not to cross him or to be seen breaking any school rule, let it be an insignificant one. I should tell you what they are one day, in fact," he started musing. After shaking his head, he continued, "But if you are not misbehaving and not breaking any rule, then there is no reason at all for you to be worried."

* * *

"Why do I get the feeling you sat on my armchair, Dippet?" Phineas Nigellus Black suspiciously asked the Deputy Headmaster once the wizard was seated in his office.

Dippet uncomfortably coughed as he handed him the contract he had given the new student.

"You have to understand," he bravely tried to tell the other wizard who began reading it. "Hogwarts is a school the founders built so that everybody could learn magic. From my point of view, it was only natural for me to grant his demand."

"That's because you are a Hufflepuff," he absent-mindedly replied. "Fortunately for everybody here, I'm not."

* * *

"This is it!" Virginia exclaimed. "Professor Mesmer foresaw this!" She ignored Albus facepalming and told Harry, "The Darkness _has_ to be him! And the day of the moon is Monday. And if what he told us is true then he's going to come after you!"

* * *

"It looks like this is your lucky day, Dippet. Now bring him to me. _Immediately_. "

* * *

"There is no reason at all to worry. It is just a coincidence certainly," Albus told Harry as Nearly Headless Nick left the Common Room once he had passed the message. "I am sure this is just to discuss your demand to study here. Nothing to worry about."

Somehow, he didn't seem as sure as he was a few minutes ago.

"Do you want me to come with you?" he suddenly proposed. "For… for luck, I suppose. O-Or moral support."

Harry tried to remember what he knew about Phineas Nigellus Black. What kind of wizard he was, how he would take the prefect's presence. "Does he like you?"

The grimace he got was answer enough.

"Maybe that wouldn't be the best idea," Albus reluctantly admitted. "Just… Just be respectful and..." He looked up and down at Harry's clothing and grimaced. "Just be respectful," he concluded as with a swish of his wand he rebuttoned Harry's top button. "Professor Black isn't particularily impressed by anybody ill-mannered or defying authority. Just be respectful, do not talk back and you should be fine."

"What did Professor Mesmer say again?" Virginia asked.

Elphias tried to remember, "Embrace it and go with the flow?" he hesitantly answered. "He said that after the test so I'm not sure he meant him but… maybe there's some clue there. Potter, you need to… you need to embrace the Headmaster?"

The entire Common Room was silent.

Albus slowly nodded. "I think that may not be it, Elphias. Anyway, I recommand not making him wait. He rather dislikes those who are not punctual."

For a moment, it looked like the red-haired was about to add something else. Finally, he sighed and asked, "Do you remember the way to his office?" he asked Harry.

"Yes."

"Because otherwise I can-"

"Don't worry, I know the way."

"And the password?"

Harry paused and thought about it for a second. Finally, he snorted. "Sirius, right?"

"Correct. I cannot stress this enough, give Headmaster Black the respect his position gives him. Do not even consider talking back. And no matter what he does to get a reaction out of you, do _not_ take the bait."

Harry considered what Albus has just told him. "Basically, keep my head down?"

Albus nodded and gave him a reassuring smile. "You can do that perfectly, I'm sure."

Harry blankly looked at the prefect.

It was in moments like these Harry remembered this Albus Dumbledore did not know him _at all_.

* * *

As he left Gryffindor's Tower, Harry couldn't help thinking of Phineas Nigellus Black's portraits that had adorned Grimmauld Place and Professor Dumbledore's office.

Hogwarts' most hated Headmaster, Sirius had told him. Maybe his godfather had been exaggerating, but there had to be some truth in his words. Moreover, considering everybody's reactions, he seriously doubted he would be as accomodating as Professor Dumbledore or Professor Dippet.

Moreover, what little conversation he's had with the portrait, he knew the conversation he was about to have was not going to be a walk in the park.

When the gargoyle moved away, Harry mentally braced himself and finally knocked.

"Enter," a rather familiar voice behind the door said.

Harry deeply breathed and opened the door.

In the heat of the moment, he hadn't paid much attention to the Headmaster's office the last time. But, even though some artefacts were already here, there were very little compared to Professor Dumbledore's office. Mostly, the room was full of bookshelves, a real library that would make Hermione cry in pure envy.

But it was when Harry finally saw the man in the room that Harry startled.

With his black hair and dark eyes, his pointed beard and these thin eyebrows, there was no doubt this man was Phineas Nigellus Black. Whoever had painted his portrait must have been extraordinarily good for Harry couldn't see even the slightest difference. Even the green robe was the same, and, hadn't he known better, Harry would have even believed the wizard had managed to escape his frame and decided he had enough of how Professor Dumbledore was handling Hogwarts and was going to show everybody how it was done.

"So you are the new student, I presume."

Harry dazily blinked and nodded. "Err… Yes, sir."

Phineas Nigellus Black checked some paper he had on his desk. "Well, you _do_ like a Potter, I have to hand it to you."

He expectively looked at him but Harry decided not to take the bait. "Is there a problem? Sir," he added at the last second.

Phineas Nigellus Black crossed his fingers and intently looked at him. "You tell me. Do you think there is a problem?"

Harry hesitated. "I don't think so?"

The Headmaster intently looked at him several more seconds and Harry suddenly got the feeling he was trying to read his mind.

Harry immediately closed his eyes and tried a smile. "If this is about my admission here, I thought there was no problem. Professor Dippet himself told me everything was in order."

"Yes, he would say that," Harry heard him muttering. "Unfortunately for you, there are several mistakes with your application and it is up to me to correct them."

Harry softly inhaled and, trying to remember what little he knew about occlumency, said, "Such as?"

"You didn't write the date before you signed for example." Harry startled and stared at the Headmaster. "Meaning that the contract is not biding at the present moment and that I can perfectly terminate it if I so wish."

Harry stilled when the Headmaster started smiling.

"Tell me, Mister Potter," he slowly began, voice eerily calm, "may you _please_ remind me where you're from?"

Harry dazedly blinked. "Oh, well…" he stammered as the older wizard's smile turned smug. "I've been there and there."

Phineas Nigellus Black nodded to himself. "Of course. And why did you ask to enter Hogwarts just a week ago instead of going through the proper channels? I'm sure this is a fascinating story," he remarked as Harry rapidly paled, "unfortunately for everybody here, I have very little time for your lies so, _please_ , be quick. Some of us have real work to do."

Harry spluttered. "M-My lies? I'm not… I'm not lying."

"That's not what your scar tells me." He pointed in the direction of his left hand and Harry startled when he finally remembered the words Umbridge had forced him to crave on his skin. "You should know: I do not appreciate liars. Or tricksters. You may have managed to fool Dippet, but fooling me is neigh impossible. Do you honestly think you deserve to be in my school? Why should I accept you here? Give me _one_ reason. Just one."

Harry's lips suddenly felt dry. "W-Well… I'm a… I'm a good student?"

"Is that an answer or a question?"

More firmly, Harry repeated, "I'm a good student."

Headmaster Black slowly nodded. "Do you think this is a good enough reason for me?"

Harry opened his mouth but, looking at the impassive wizard and remembering just how his portrait was, he knew the answer was a firm 'no'.

"I see you do not have a good enough reason then," the wizard remarked as Harry didn't say anything. He nodded to himself. "Well, that settles it quite nicely. Get out of my school."

* * *

"Do you think he will come back?" Elphias suddenly asked. Albus slowly raised his head. "I mean, Professor Mesmer said that if he may leave us. And considering he's in the Headmaster's office..."

Albus considered the question. "I am sure Harry will be fine, Elphias."

Well, he _hoped_ he was going to be fine.

"And it's not as if we can do anything."

Albus wished he could help but the truth was, he had very little weight when it came to these things. Professor Black was a rather stubborn man and passionately hated him. When it came to these sort of problems, he wasn't even sure his presence and him defending the new student wouldn't actually made the whole problem worse.

Albus pretended to check his pocket watch. "I might start patrolling the corridors," he said as he got up. "I doubt Headmaster Black will be impressed if don't."

* * *

" _I'm sorry_?"

"You heard me. Get out of my school."

Harry spluttered. "Bu-But where will I go?" he blurted out.

Phineas Nigellus Black slowly smirked. "That is not my problem. Also, I want you to give me back the money Professor Dippet so foolishly gave you." A finger impatiently hit the desk between them. " _Immediately_."

Harry hadn't even realized his hands were in his pockets when he felt the metallic touch of the knut in his right pocket and the fake DA coin in his left.

Harry stilled and impassively looked at the wizard. "Well, hurry up," Headmaster Black snapped.

It would be _so_ _easy_ to give him the fake galleon…

"I don't have all day!"

Harry considered the man for a few seconds. Finally, he retrieved the knut and put it on the table with more force than needed.

"I spent it all for the school books and potion ingredients," he told the wizard, making a point in looking at him straight in the eyes. "And the clothes too."

The wizard glared at him. "And how will Hogwarts manage to get the money back, eh?"

"That is not my problem." The wizard blinked and thunderously looked at him. "Sorry, that is not my problem, s _ir_."

"Detention," he hissed.

"I'm not a student here, _sir_."

Harry knew he was being unbelievably stupid but he couldn't help thinking it was worth it, if only for the constipated face the wizard was giving him.

Before the man could say anything -or do anything- the door behind Harry opened and the Gryffindor couldn't help turning his head in direction of the noise.

Black closed the door behind him and just said, "Hello, Father."

The Headmaster glared at the boy. "Phineas," he dryly said, "how many times must I tell you? It is Headmaster when we're at Hogwarts! And learn to knock for heaven sake!"

'Phineas' just shrugged. "I just wanted to say hello and have some news from home." He looked at Harry, then back to his father. "I've missed something, haven't I?"

Phineas Black (Senior) carefully looked at his son. "That delinquent is in your year, is that correct?"

Phineas Black (Junior) glanced at Harry once more. "Maybe. Why, has he done something?"

"Do not play dumb, Phineas. This doesn't suit you at all."

The younger Black smiled and shrugged. "I knew you were busy and I thought it would be wiser to inform you face to face at your return instead of bothering you in your work, Father. Clearly, I wasn't quick enough."

After a few seconds when the father suspiciously looked at his son, Phineas Nigellus Black nodded to himself. "Very well. I suppose you may help me then." He pointed an accusing finger at Harry. "What can you tell me about this boy?"

"Not much, I'm afraid." He sighed. "He is being extraordinarily vague about his past. Many have theories, but I very much doubt for example that he is the Heir of Slytherin. He… he is good in class, I suppose. You have to understand, Father, he tries to act as if he's always been there and most members of the school are so idiotic they didn't see anything wrong with that."

Phineas Nigellus Black snorted at that comment but didn't deny it. "Anything else?"

The Slytherin Prefect seemed to be in deep thoughts. "Maybe, but no, no. But then again… I'm not sure this is worth mentionning..."

"Phineas," Professor Black warned.

"He is relatively good at Defence Against the Dark Arts," Black finally said. "The style is rather crude but it _is_ efficient so on balance I would say he has some talent in the subject."

Phineas Nigellus Black rolled his eyes. "Do you think I actually care, Phineas?"

"Obviously not. It's just… something I noticed."

"Let me guess," he droned, "he casted a corporeal patronus in class."

Black raised his eyebrows. "Wait, what?"

"That's how he tricked Dippet." He rolled his eyes as he looked at the paperwork on his desk, never noticing his son's calculating look. "Nevermind that. I don't particulary care about what that boy did. Anything else?"

The boy slowly hummed. "Let me think… The school seem to have taken a shine to him already." Seeing the Headmaster rolling his eyes, he shrugged. "What can I say? He does give some very mysterious vibes. You see, Father, it is widely believed that Potter is a Seer."

The man rolled his eyes at the last word. "A Seer."

The boy nodded. "It happened during Divination and it was very dramatic. Moreover Professor Mesmer seems to imply that-"

"Alright, I've had enough," Professor Black interrupted as he got up from his chair. "I've had enough of this-"

"Of course that might also be because Potter managed to defeat Dumbledore during our duelling lesson," he mumbled.

Phineas Nigellus Black froze on the spot and Harry sharply turned his head in the direction of the prefect.

"Say that again."

"Dumbledore," he repeated. "He defeated Albus Dumbledore is our first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson with the disarming charm."

Phineas Nigellus Black quickly glanced at Harry. "Did he?"

Black slowly nodded. "It was very dramatic and the entire school was rather shaken up to know Dumbledore was not the best in Defence Against the Dark Arts. It is said that Potter is an even greater wizard than he is but I remember him telling me it was - what was that word Potter used again?-" he pretended to think, "ah yes, it was 'no big deal', that Dumbledore made many mistakes and that anybody could defeat him."

Headmaster Black's lips curled.

And even though Harry was currently looking at Black, he could literally feel the oldest wizard's interested look on him.

It was obvious now what the prefect was doing, and Harry had to applaud his acting skills. It had all been well calculated, from the boy pretending to hesitate to him revealing his trump card at the proper moment.

"Did you really?" Professor Black asked Harry with a trace of curiosity. "Did you really say anybody could defeat Albus Dumbledore?"

Embrace the darkness and go with the flow indeed.

"Ah yes." He turned to the Headmaster and promptly repeated what he had told everybody ever since that duel. And, the more Harry talked, the wider the man's smile got.

Harry didn't know why the Slytherin has decided to help him, but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Finally, the man crossed his arms and seemed to be at war with himself. After a couple of minutes, he finally told them, "I've made my decision. You may stay for the time being."

Even though Harry knew that was what the Slytherin had wanted and he had played his game to get this result, it still was with some surprise he took the new. "Really?"

He nodded. "Naturally, you can forget about that ridiculous scholarship and you _will_ pay the money you owe Hogwarts back, but you may stay. Now leave my sight. I've had enough of you. Phineas, I have something to tell you."

* * *

"Is everything alright, Father?" Phineas asked once the Gryffindor has closed the door.

Phineas Nigellus Black decided not to beat around the bush. "Kreacher is dead. I know you were fond of it so I suppose I should tell you."

Phineas' heart dropped

"Oh." The Fifth Year swallowed and slowly nodded. "I suppose he was old."

"It couldn't even carry the tea tray," he aquiesced. "Nevertheless, we bought another one."

"Ah. What is his name?"

"Kreacher." Seeing his son's incredulous look, he snapped, "You don't actually think we'll bother remembering the new one's name, do you?"

"No, no!" he hurried. "Of course not. I've never once thought..." He sighed. "I just wish I could have seen Kreacher one last time, I suppose."

"Oh, you will see it again," he absentmindedly replied. Seeing his puzzled look, he explained, "Your Aunt Elladora cut its head and mounted it on the wall."

Phineas stared at his father.

It was in moment like these that Phineas remembered he actually _didn't_ need to lie to make his family look terrifying.

* * *

That had been way too close.

Harry exhaled and put his shaky hand over his mouth.

That had been _way too close_.

He had know he was in a precarious position but he hadn't _actually_ understood how fragile everything was.

Hadn't Black decided to bail him out for some reason, Harry had no doubt he wouldn't be in Hogwarts anymore. And Harry might be keeping it together here, he was perfectly aware he wouldn't survive outside.

Harry suddenly imagined himself all alone in Victorian London's streets and deeply breathed.

He was on an ejectable seat, the last few days might have caused him to forget that but he was standing on moving sand and he was sinking.

How do you escape moving sand? Harry wondered. Harry supposed he would normally answer the question by summoning his Firebolt but his broom was in Umbridge office in 1996. He then tried to remember that lesson from primary school. Do not move or you'll sink even more?

That had basically been Dumbledore's advice. Do not move, keep your head down, do not cause any wave.

And, Harry being Harry, he had almost blown it. Well, he actually thought he had stood no chance and that Phineas Nigellus Black had set his mind before Harry's coming, but he had almost screwed up _even more_.

"There you are!" a voice exclaimed. "You know, Potter, when somebody saves your skin, the least you can do is wait for them!"

Harry deeply breathed and turned to the Slytherin. "Sorry."

He didn't know why the Prefect had suddenly decided to help him, but he doubted he had done it out of his good heart. There always was a reason with Slytherins after all.

Phineas Black lazily put his hands in his pockets. "I know you said you wouldn't ask for help but, clearly, you needed it."

Harry suspisciously looked at him. "Why did you do it?" he asked.

Black shrugged and smirked. "Oh, I don't know. I do that sometimes. Saving idiots from my father's ire. Why do you think I'm so popular here? Everybody wants to be on my good side. It's either that or I did it because now you owe me one." Seeing Harry tensing, he snorted. "Considering you are funny and haven't actually annoyed me so far, I suppose I won't ask for your soul just yet."

"What do you want?" he tersely asked.

Harry didn't like it a bit, but he knew now he didn't have a choice. He had to go with the flow and hope he would eventually find land.

Black pretended to think. "From now on, you stay with me in Defence Against the Dark Arts." Harry startled but the Slytherin wasn't finished. "Sluggy is good at Defence but I _really_ can't stand him. Also, no matter what, you are not allowed to duel with Albus Dumbledore."

Harry stared. "That's it?" he blurted out.

"Why, I can ask for more?" Harry didn't answer him and the other boy started saying, "If you really are a Seer, I suppose I should ask you to tell me my future. What do you see when you look at me?"

Harry paused and strangely looked at the wizard.

Harry supposed he should actually know the answer to that one. Sirius had after all showed him the Black tapestry and even pointed out where Phineas Nigellus Black was and where Sirius' name had once been. Had he paid more attention, he would have certainly seen this Phineas Black's name and even his date of death.

"Well?"

Harry slowly shook his head. "I'm not a seer."

Black mumbled something that sounded awfully like 'I knew it'.

"Oh well, just do what I ask you. Still, make no mistake. I might have helped you out of my good heart this time, there will not be a repeat. So don't mess up and don't forget this: you may think you don't need help, it is still a terrible idea to be on your own in this big bad world."

* * *

"He's back!" Virginia exclaimed when Harry entered Gryffindor Common Room. "Are you alright?"

Harry didn't answer her and sat on the first armchair.

"No, of course you're not," she answered her own question. "Did he give you detention? Three Gryffindors already got detention."

Harry considered the question. "I don't think so." That reminded him, he still had detention with Mesmer next Wednesday.

"Well, you got lightly." She tried to cheer him up. "His punishments are the worst. Also, we have already lost thirty points. I suppose we should be upset but..." She shrugged. "Look at the bright side, you're still here."

Harrry groaned at that reminder and hid his face behind his hands.

He had been stuck in the past for an entire week now. And, in a week, he hadn't advanced an inch in finding a way back to the twentieth century.

He hadn't even managed to tell this Albus Dumbledore he was a time traveller.

He seriously sucked at that whole time travelling thing.

"Where is..." He grimaced and privately wondered if he would one day manage to bring himself to call the young Dumbledore 'Albus'.

Luckily, it seemed like the witch had understood who he was referring to. "Patrolling the corridors, I suppose. He was worried about you, you know. I think he used that excuse to find you but you must have missed each other. I'm not sure when he'll come back."

So Harry wasn't going to tell him today either.

Harry didn't know if he wanted to laugh or to cry.

At this rate he was going to wonder if he ever would.

At the thought, Harry heavily sighed, and, sinking in the armchair while Virginia was called by her friends, he took the first thing in his pockets. He rolled the DA coin between his fingers.

Part of the reason why Harry hadn't given it to Phineas Nigellus Black was because it would had felt like giving in and proving he was some liar when he knew he hadn't done anything wrong. But there had also been that inexplicable need for him to keep it. Of all the things he had, the DA coin was the one item he had which reminded him of home the most.

Harry suddenly remembered the day Hermione gave the DA member their Galleon.

" _You see the numerals around the edge of the coins?_ _On real Galleons that's just a serial number referring to the goblin who cast the coin. On_ these fake coins, though, _the nu_ _m_ _bers will change to reflect the time and date of the next meeting. The coins will grow hot when the date changes, so if you're carrying them in a pocket you'll be able to feel them. We take one each, and when Harry sets the date of the next meeting he'll change the numbers on his coin, and because I've put a Protean Charm on them, they'll all change to mimic his."_

Harry stilled. Slowly, he incredulously raised the coin over his head.

If he changed his coin, then _maybe_ the DA coins' in 1996 would change as well. And if he could communicate with the DA… if Fred or Georges saw he was in 1896 for example, he had no doubt they'd show the coin to Professor Dumbledore and then…

He held the DA Galleon tighter, excitement flooding through him as he hurriedly left the Common Room to go to the dormitories. Once he was sitting on his bed, he put his wand over the DA coin and, with an excited laugh, he changed the date to today.

Any minute now, and he'd be home. In less than a minute, he'd be home. Soon enough he'd be back and his friends…

The smile lessened.

If that worked, it would have been a week since they had been to the Ministry of Magic.

In other words, it would be far too late to save his friends stuck in the Department of Mysteries.

Harry loudly swore and hurriedly changed the date back.

In the heat of the moment, he had forgotten he still had to save his friends. And if he came back right now, it would be too late to do anything.

Harry swore again and desperately tried to find a way to help this friends.

When the solution came to him, he slapped his forehead because it should have been obvious.

He just had to warn the Order of the Phoenix they had to be rescue them. He was in the past, so if he warned them _now_ they would be more than ready to make sure everything would be alright.

And, luckily for him, he could even pass the message to Albus Dumbledore himself.

Harry looked at the DA coin again and changed the date one last time to the 10th of September 1996.

That should give him enough time to convince this Dumbledore he was a time traveler and tell him he would have to save the members of the DA still stuck in the Department of Mysteries. It didn't matter how Harry was going to convince him. He _had_ to do it.

And, who knew? If it worked and Harry somehow managed to vanish right in front of him on Wednesday, the boy would have no choice but to believe him.


	11. Bad Timing

It was a resolute Harry that woke up on Tuesday.

He was going to tell Albus Dumbledore he was a time traveller. As soon as he found him, he was going to tell him.

Noticing the bed in front of him was empty, he got up and headed to the Gryffindor's bathroom.

As he opened the door, he noticed Albus Dumbledore was still inside.

"Sorry," he mumbled as he closed the door.

"No, no! I'm almost done!"

From the other side of the door, he heard a hiss.

"Well, I think. Sorry, could you please pass me my wand?" Harry headed to the prefect's bed as he heard, "It should be in the top drawer, if I remember correctly."

Wand secured, Harry went to grab his, knocked and waited for the Prefect to open the door. Having no answer, he took a breath and opened the door.

There was something surreal in watching Albus Dumbledore shaving. In fact, of all the things Harry has had to endure ever since his time travel accident, that was perhaps the queerest thing he had so far witnessed.

The wizard hissed in pain when the razor cut the skin.

Finally noticing the numerous cuts via the mirror, Harry handed him the wand. "You could use the shaving charm, you know?"

"I wanted to try my luck," he told him before carefully posing the straight razor as if it was cursed. "I should have known better." Seeing his wand, his face softened. "Well, hello you," he greeted the wand like one would an old lover. He then delicately took the wand which began emitting white sparks and he happily began waving it for a few seconds. He finally pointed it at his face whose cuts immediately healed. "Let's see now..."

The boy made a few complicated wand movements and the remaining hairs disappeared.

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Did you… use the vanishing charm on your hairs?"

Last time somebody had done that, Seamus had lost his mouth and it had taken all his dormmates' collective efforts to fix him.

"In restrospect, I probably shouldn't have done that," Dumbledore murmured. He hurriedly moved his wand several times and sighed in relief. "I admit I was worried for a few seconds but everything is fine." He finally at Harry and smiled. "Good morning, Harry."

"Morning. Are you done with the bathroom?"

"Yes, yes." He took carefully took his straight razor and toothbrush. "Bathroom is yours," he said as he left the room and softly closed the door behind him.

Harry sighed and tiredly ran a hand through his hair.

"Hang in there, Harry," he whispered. "It's almost over."

The DA coin had to work. And he knew there was no way Professor Dumbledore wouldn't go to the Department of Mysteries if he knew his friends were in danger. All he had to do was warn the younger Albus Dumbledore and everything would be alright.

As he started washing himself, Harry began wondering what was going to happen when he was finally home.

At minimum, he would finally have some well-deserved holidays. Harry didn't even think he would mind going back to the Dursleys at this point. He supposed he would also have to talk to Professor Dumbledore. Harry had no idea how the conversation was going to be, but he supposed it would be rather strange to know he had seen the old man when he was young.

Harry snickered at the thought of Ron's face when he would tell him he had seen Albus Dumbledore shaving.

He even sucked at it, he thought as he checked his own face in the mirror and absent-mindedly casted the shaving charm with his holly wand.

His morning ablutions finished, Harry dressed and left the bathroom. He had just taken his schoolbag when he heard a scream.

"What are you doing?" a voice screeched in the direction of the Common Room.

"What can I say?" he heard Dumbledore's voice jovially answering as he walked in the direction of the voice. "You are so cute!"

"I am not _cute_!"

"Of course, of course, my most sincere apologies, Abe, sorry, Aberforth."

As Harry entered the Common Room, he saw the younger Dumbledore massaging his cheeks and taking a step away from his brother.

"A rebel such as you, you are anything _but_ cute."

Aberforth took another step back. Suspiciously, he asked, "What have you done now?" Seeing his brother's low chuckles, he paled. "W-Well, stay away from me until you're back to normal because I won't take any part in your madness!"

"Is everything alright?" Harry asked as the Third Year started running away.

"Quite, quite." Seeing the look on his face, his eyes twinkled. "Everything is quite alright, Harry. Now, which classes are we supposed to attend again?"

Harry frowned and, after summoning his bag, checked the timetable. "Potions and Transfiguration." Seeing the man's smile, he shook his head in amusement. "We've got to eat first though."

"Of course," he swiftly answered as they both left the Common Room. "I wonder if there is going to be chanting flakes," he started musing as they left Gryffindor Tower.

Harry frowned, "Chanting flakes."

"Cereals that sing when you pour milk on them," came the swift answer. "Depending on how you do it, the song changes." After taking a look at what was on Gryffindor's table, he let a soft sigh. "I suppose I can't have everything," he said as he sat next to Harry. Taking a look at the teachers' table, he took a thoughtful pause.

Harry followed his look and saw Phineas Nigellus Black in deep conversation with Professor Cassini, Hogwarts' Astronomy Professor. A few times, it seemed like the witch was raising her eyebrows at whatever the wizard was whispering to her.

"Is something wrong?"

The prefect didn't answer.

* * *

"But that doesn't make sense!" Cassiopea Cassini exclaimed after breakfast, stunned at what she was seeing in the Headmaster's office where all curtains have been pulled. "That's just impossible!"

"Surprisingly, I have reached the same conclusion myself." Phineas Nigellus Black remarked. "Still, I had hoped you could give me something new to consider. That was highly optimistic of me I know, but still I had hoped..."

She spluttered. "W-Well… What can I say to _that_?" She pointed at the ceiling of the Headmaster's office where they could see in the darkness of the room a starry sky. "That's just not… That's just impossible!"

"And yet, that is what was recorded by the Department of Mysteries," the Headmaster said as he pensively looked at the replica of the sky in his office. "No matter how impossible it seems to be, this is what the sky on the 1st of September was like."

She mutely shook her head. "That's just not possible," she whispered. "And I-I would have noticed if-"

"Everything was back to normal a few minutes later," he précised. "And it was only the next day that this anomaly was found. Unless you were looking at the proper moment, you couldn't have seen it."

The Headmaster waved his wand and a time stamp appeared on the moon. "It happened shortly before the Welcoming Feast," he declared. "There was no way you couldn't have missed it. We were lucky really the artifacts in the Department of Mysteries recorded this, in fact. We have been asked to shed a new light on the subject. As you are our current Astronomy Professor, I ask you: what do you think that means?"

She gaped. "W-Well-" she spluttered. "Are we- Are we sure this is not some joke or that the recordings haven't been tampered?"

"Positive. Moreover, I've just received an owl informing me this incident has happened again early this morning before sunrise. I have not received their recording but they assure me the sky was not that different from this one," he pointed his wand at the ceiling.

"Stars don't move!" she exclaimed. "Not like _that_!" She raised an accusing finger at the stars out of place which started twinkling as if to mock her. "It's all out of place! They're not where they're supposed to be! The pleiades, the dog constellation, Mars, Saturn and Jupiter. What on earth are they doing?"

Professor Black pensively looked at Sirius. "What indeed."

* * *

While Professor Prince was teaching the class about the various moonstone's properties, Harry started considering how he was going to explain the wizard on his right he was a time traveler.

Step one involved cornering the wizard after class and insuring nobody would be listening to their conversation. Not an easy feat for there always seemed to be somebody trying to grab his attention.

So far, his only obvious option was to play the card of the poor lost new student who did not want anybody to know he had problems with class.

Step two involved proving he was a time traveller. After all, if some bloke came to him telling him he was from the future, Harry knew he would think the boy was barmy. That time traveller would need to give him evidence he was the real deal.

Question was: what could he use to prove he shouldn't go to St Mungot?

First he had considered giving him some basic knowledge from the future but he had then realized he knew nothing about the late nineteeth century. Any relevant information he had would not be confirmed before _decades_. Harry had then considered using knowledge he got from the future about Albus Dumbledore himself.

Harry drew a question mark on the margin of the parchment and stole a look at the wizard inscrutably looking at the Potion Master while the quill wrote the lesson on its own. Feeling the wizard looking at him, Dumbledore turned his head and smiled.

Harry promptly looked away and wrote the third use of the moonstone, followed immediately by the fourth. He then posed the quill and pretended he was listening to the Potion Master.

Problem was, he didn't know what he could use as leverage.

Albus Dumbledore, Hogwarts Headmaster, former Transfiguration Professor and Gryffindor Head of House. Order of Merlin, First class for the defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald and his discovery relative to the twelve uses of dragon blood. Known for his fondness for chamber music and ten-pin bowling.

All Harry knew about the wizard was what was written on his chocolate frog card. In hindsight, that was nothing, and Harry knew very little about the boy he used to be or the man he would become. A brilliant wizard like him, anybody could tell him he was going to be famous, or great, or teach Transfiguration at Hogwarts down the road. It hardly was information from the future, it was merely common knowledge or an educated guess here.

Maybe the chamber music thing could work, but Harry would hardly be impressed at anybody telling him he liked flying.

"Knut for your thoughts," the man on his right whispered in his ear.

Harry sighed. "It's nothing."

He still had until of the end of the day to find something, he supposed.

* * *

When during lunch the auburn-haired kept pensively looking at the teachers' table where the Headmaster and Professor Cassini were still in deep discussion, Harry asked again if something was wrong.

Eyes still on the teachers' table, Dumbledore answered, "They are conversing about something rather troubling." He took a thoughtful pause. "I suppose I will have to ask Phineas what he knows about it."

"Troubling."

The wizard blinked, turned his head in his direction and smiled. "No need to worry, Harry. It is just about Astronomy. Now, what do we have again?" He retrieved his wand and with a little swish the bag that was at his feet jumped on his lap, opened itself and two sheets of pachment floated at eye-level

That was so far the laziest thing the wizard had done this day and the wizard hadn't stopped using his wand for even the most trifliest thing.

After checking the timetable on his right, he glanced at the parchment on the left. "Ah yes," he mused. "I had compltely forgotten about that."

Harry frowned and tried to read what was written on it. It seemed like list of ingredients for a potion.

He absent-mindedly started caressing his jaw and suddenly blinked. After closing his eyes for a second, he sighed. "Yes, I suppose that makes sense. At least I know what I need to do tonight,"

Harry stilled. "Wait what? Y-You can't!"

That just wasn't possible. Couldn't the wizard just stay still for _one bloody day_? Okay, he might have been stalling after the duelling incident but, seriously, would he have to curse him behind his back and tie him to a chair to finally tell him what he needed to say?

Dumbledore's lips curled. "I am afraid that I must, Harry," he softly told him. "Still, this is the very last thing I am planning to do."

"What is it anyway?"

"That," he said as with a swish of his wand the notes went back to the satchel, "is some rough ideas I had about a potion I wanted to present for an international potion competition. Some rough draft of a reverse forgetfullness potion." He paused and shook his head. "We should focus on more important things however and hurry for our next lesson, would you not agree, Harry?"

* * *

"I didn't know you liked Care of Magical Creatures that much," Harry commented during their Care of Magical Creatures' class.

Dumbledore tickled his Niffler's belly. "Wondrous creatures, are they not? Although, I recommand hiding the teaspoons if you are having a tea party with one of them."

Harry amusedly shook his head. "A friend had hidden some leprechain gold in the earth for our lesson," Harry commented. "We all had a Niffler and had to find the most gold before the end of the lesson."

The auburn-haired smiled in the direction of the magical creature. "Your friend must be an excellent teacher then. Still, I am afraid there will no treasure hunt today."

He supposed he should have known better, Harry mused. He couldn't stop a smile when the other wizard delicately posed the Niffler on the ground. The creature looked left and right in an attempt to find something valuable and finally walked in Harry's direction when he handed him some food.

After all, Harry couldn't help thinking, it was the same man who had a goddamn phoenix in his office.

Harry stilled as the Niffler grabbed his wrist and started eating.

Maybe he didn't actually know Albus Dumbledore, but he knew that he would one day have a phoenix he would call Fawkes and would literally call a secret group whose goal was to defeat Voldemort the Order of the Phoenix. He was probably overreaching, but he doubted he was wrong about Albus Dumbledore having some strange fascination with these magical creatures.

Now, if he could find a way to be alone with him after Charms...

The Niffler suddenly hugged him but the red-haired tutted and grabbed the creature. "Now, that is not very nice," he softly admonished it. "Why don't you give back what you have stolen, hmh?"

The Niffler looked away but the wizard kept looking at it. The Niffler glanced at him and reluctantly handed him a fat gold coin he got from the pouch on his belly.

"Very good," he praised the creature as he gave Harry the fake galleon. He then tickled the Niffler and handed him more food.

Harry cursed and hurriedly put the DA coin back in his pocket.

* * *

It turned out Harry _didn't have_ to tie Dumbledore to a chair.

"It's been a week since you've been here, has it not?" he asked him after Charms. "I hope it hadn't been too difficult for you. How are you faring, Harry?"

Harry shrugged. "It's been..." He grimaced, trying to find the correct word. "It's been a busy week," he settled.

So much had happened Harry sometimes had trouble believing it had only been a week. From that strange hypnosis séance where Voldemort had jumped on him to that duel against Dumbledore and Phineas Nigellus Black, so much had happened to him, leaving him with with so many questions and very little answers.

His only consolation was that he _finally_ had the beginning of a plan to leave this blasted century.

The auburn-haired nodded. "You made quite an entrance here, so I suppose that is not really surprising." His lips curled. "And you will outdo yourself."

Harry abruptly turned his head.

"No doubt about it," Dumbledore added after a couple of seconds. Seeing Harry looking at him, he smiled. "Some people are just like that."

"Like what?"

But the wizard didn't answer him and he didn't say anything else until the two of them were facing the Fat Lady.

"Password?" the Fat Lady asked them.

Dumbledore turned to him and expectantly looked at him.

Harry sighed. "Tempora mutantur." The Fat Lady nodded. "I know the password, you know?" he told him once the door opened.

But the wizard just smiled. "I wonder… Do you know what that means, Harry?"

Harry frowned. "Something about time, right?"

"Quite so. _Tempora mutantur_ _means 'times change'."_ Harry raised his eyebrows at that. "It is only part of an adage _'Tempora mutantur, nos et mutamur in illis'_ meaning quite literally _'Times change, and we change in them'."_

Harry scoffed at that.

Dumbledore searched his pockets and retrieved a copper fobwatch. "It looks like we still have some time before dinner." Glancing at him, he asked, "I know this must have been the furthest thing from your mind but have you done your homework?"

Harry blankly looked at him and he amusedly shook his head.

"I suppose I should help then. There is quite a lot of difference between what is expected of you and what you are used to. Do you want me to find a place for the two of us to revise in peace?"

"Y-Yes! Yes, of course." He tried not to grin at the realization that _this_ was the opening he had been looking for an entire week.

Dumbledore bemusedly smiled when it became obvious the first thing Harry had to tackle down was Divination. "Chiromancy!" He raised an eyebrow and lowly chuckled. "How convenient," he commented before extending his right hand. "Well then, I suppose I mustn't disappoint and ask you to tell me my future."

Harry slowly glanced at the hand.

He knew Albus Dumbledore didn't believe in Divination but maybe he would believe in time travel and this could be the ice breaker.

He pretended to look at the life line. "You will have a long life. A very long life. Like… we're talking a hundred years here."

Dumbledore's lips twiched. "Really." Harry nodded and he lowly chuckled. "A long life is not the guarantee of a happy life unfortunately so what else can you tell me?"

Harry frowned. "And… You will have a succesful life." The auburn-haired made a dubitative face but Harry didn't see it. "You will have many titles and… and a chocolate frog card. You will also be reveared by many and feared by dark wizards. Also you will teach at Hogwarts."

"Am I a good teacher?" he asked.

"The best."

His lips twiched again. "You are too kind, Harry." He then pointed one line on his open palm. "What about this line now?"

Harry frowned. "Well..." He took the hand in his and tried to figure out which line it was supposed be be. The heart line probably.

Meaning Dumbledore wanted him to talk about his love life.

He snorted at the idea. What was he supposed to say about that?

"I'm afraid you will be a bachelor," he said, eyes fixed on the palm.

When Harry looked at him, the wizard had raised his head and closed his eyes. "I see," he hummed. "Well then, I suppose I should ask you a few questions relative to chiromancy now."

Harry blinked. "You didn't take divination."

He nodded in acknowledgement. "I am but an amateur, that is true. My knowledge is severely lacking but I like to think I know the basics. Now, which hand is to be used for chiromancy?"

Harry frowned and tried to remember.

Your hand was a testament of who you were. You are what you do, it is your actions that define you. The dominant hand reflected what you had done and for this reason showed the past. The non-dominant hand in the other hand was the paths not yet taken, in other words, the future.

Harry stilled and looked at the wizard's right hand. He swore.

"You didn't give me the right hand!"

The auburn-haired lowly chuckled. "Didn't I?" He raised his right hand. "I am afraid to tell you that _this_ is, in fact, the right hand."

Harry glared at the still chuckling wizard. "You will get kicked out of Hogwarts," he abruptly told him.

Dumbledore smiled. "Ah, something I don't know. It's finally getting exciting. Will I really?"

" _Twice_."

"So the first time clearly didn't work and I came back." He wisely nodded. "Is there a chance I repeat this feat?"

"I said you're going to have a long life? You will be a mad old man!" he exclaimed while Dumbledore lowly chuckled. "And all these titles I talked about? You'll lose them all because you'll be senile!"

"Ah, but do I keep the chocolate frog card?"

"And you will be on the run because the Ministry found your underground army!" he spat while the wizard's chuckles intensified. "The entire wizarding world will hunt you down because they'll think you want to take over the Ministry of Magic!"

"And I thought I was going to get bored in my old age. Although, why would I take over the Ministry of magic at the twilight of my life?"

"You're _mad_."

He sighed. "I suppose there is no logic to be found then. Well then, if that was your OWL examination and I was your examiner, I suppose I should give you an A. I'm sorry but you will need to work more for this Outstanding."

Harry scoffed.

"Do you want me to try my luck?" Dumbledore proposed. "I will never be a Divination Professor but I like to think I have learned a thing or two." Seeing Harry glaring at him he sighed. "I suppose not. Pity."

Harry didn't give _a damn_ about what this Dumbledore was going to cook up. Harry had tried to show him he knew the future and all he did was laugh at him and say he'd have an A. He, the wizard from the future, barely having a passing grade in the art of telling the future.

How could that wizard even know he failed that mock OWL anyway? Unless Dumbledore was a time traveller himself, there was no way he could know.

Harry deeply inhaled and tried to remember what he _actually_ wanted to do. "You told me you didn't believe in divination."

He closed his eyes and nodded. "I suppose I have. The art of seeing what has yet to happen, it all sounded just impossible."

Harry hesitated. "Remember I told you I travelled?" Baby steps. Baby steps.

Eyes still closed, Dumbledore softly chuckled. "You sure did. I remember I was terribly curious. I even started imagining you in different places, trying to see if you could fit there. It seems it was such a long time ago, you know?" He opened his eyes and looked at him. "But that was just last week."

Harry grimaced at the remembrance he had been stuck here for an entire week. "Well, I doubt you could figure it out. You see," he slowly began, choosing to ignore the wizard who had stopped chuckling, "I didn't… well, I didn't travel through space."

When Harry finally looked at the man in front of him, his face was utterly closed.

Harry inwardly started freaking out. Was Albus Dumbledore surprised? Shocked? Did he believe him or did he think he was mocking him?

He suddenly decided to cut the chase. "I'm a time traveller," he blurted out. "From… well I'm from the future."

Whenever Harry had tried imagining the young Dumbledore's reaction, he had often imagined him believing on the spot and asking him how he had done it with a smile on his face, and twinkling eyes begging him to reveal him what the future would be like. Sometimes, however he had imagined him making a sad and disappointed face and telling him he shouldn't mock him and be just honest with him instead of inventing unbelievable stories.

But this Dumbledore just said, "Ah."

Harry blinked at that. "I'm serious. I'm actually a time traveller." Seeing the wizard's blank face, he hurried, "I'm from the future, you've got to believe me."

Before he knew it, Harry was blurting out everything. How he was from 1996, how he had gone to the Department of Mysteries with his friends to save his godfather. How he went with a few friends only to find out it was a trap and how they got attacked. He told him about Ron being attacked by these strange brains, about that curse that struck Hermione. He told him about the room full of time-turners and how he may not remember anything afterwards but when he _finally_ left the Ministry of Magic some witch told him he must have missed the Hogwarts Express, which was ridiculous because it wasn't the end of the year yet, you know? How he had decided to go with the flow and hope Professor Dumbledore would have an idea what to do from there.

At that, Albus Dumbledore couldn't stop a bitter smile. "It must have been quite a shock. Seeing me so young."

Harry couldn't stop a humourless chuckle. "Well, you _are_ over one hundred for me. It's difficult, you know? I mean, you're not Professor Dumbledore."

"Actually-"

"Yes, you're him, I _know_. It's just… you're not him _yet_ , are you?"

Maybe it was the lack of beard or these auburn hair. Or maybe it was the fact he was even younger than he, but sometimes Harry was almost convinced this Albus Dumbledore was merely a relative. Rarely but it had happened once or twice.

Most of the time, if Harry frowned and titlted his head just the correct way, he could see the old man this Dumbledore would become. It was rather easy, in fact. He had the same mannerisms and the same spark in his eyes whenever something really funny was happening and he had to remember he shouldn't show he was enjoying it and was supposed to act like a responsible adult.

 _And yet_ , Harry sometimes felt like there was something missing in these deep blue eyes. And without this _something_ , was Professor Dumbledore really Professor Dumbledore?

Albus Dumbledore blinked at him and Harry lowly chuckled.

He was probably just overthinking this.

"I know this sound insane. And I don't… I don't have any evidence to show you but it's true."

"Listen, Harry-"

"You like phoenixes, don't you?" Seeing the man blinking, he continued, "You've got one in the future. I don't know how you've got it but his name is Faw-"

"-Fawkes."

Harry nodded. "I know it's not much but it's all I've got. So _please_ , believe me."

"Harry-"

"Because if you don't, I freaking don't know what I'm supposed to do and-"

"Harry-"

"-and I _really_ need your help and-"

" _Harry_ ," he said more firmly this time. "Harry, I believe you."

Harry numbly looked at him for a few seconds, unable to even comprehend what the wizard had just said.

When he finally did, something in him just broke.

"Oh, _thank God_."

Relief. Crushing and overwhelming relief. Relief like he had never felt in his entire life and Harry hadn't even known existed before.

It was like some enormous weight had been lifed from his shoulders. Four little words, _and yet_ they were as important to him as the ones Hagrid had told him on his eleventh birthday.

He hadn't even realized he was crying before he felt Dumbledore's hand on his face softly drying his tears.

"S-Sorry," he chocked.

The red-haired' lips stretched into a humourless smile. "Don't be. You must have been terrified." Harry wetly chuckled. "I see that now."

Had he been scared? Harry supposed he must have been. Freaking out over bloody butterflies, privately panicking over being kicked out on Phineas Nigellus Black's whim… Looking back, Harry could hardly believe he had managed to keep going despite all this.

"I'm so sorry, Harry. I'm so, so sorry."

"It's not-" Harry grimaced, removed his face from Dumbledore's hand and tried to dry his tears the best he could.

He wanted to say this was not his fault but he couldn't. In many ways, from where he was standing, it _was_ his fault. Partly.

This was not Professor Dumbledore, and he knew it wasn't _just_ because Professor Dumbledore had isolated him he got stuck in this mess. He knew all of that _and yet_ he just couldn't let it go. For how helpful the prefect had been, a part of him couldn't help resenting him and a bigger part of him just wanted to _finally_ face Professor Dumbledore and scream at him all he had on his heart.

When Harry opened his eyes he hadn't noticed he had closed, Dumbledore was looking away.

"I think I've got a lead for going back home."

At these words, the auburn-haired wizard turned his head in Harry's direction and just started.

And, in a very small voice, Dumbledore just said, "What?"

Harry hurriedly searched his pocket and put the DA coin between them. As Harry started explaining, the other wizard looked at the fake galleon, face inscruptable.

"The protean charm," Dumbledore started musing. "One charm connecting copies of the same artefact so that when one artefact changes, so do the others." He slowly took his fake galleon and raised it above his head. "And you think that connection may transcend time and allow you to connect with your friends."

Put like that it sounded insane but…

"It's my best shot," Harry murmured. "I know it sounds silly, and maybe it's just wishful thinking but _what if_?"

"Oh, do not think I am judging you," Dumbledore remarked, eyes still on the golden coin. "It's… it's actually rather clever, in fact. Desperate? Yes. Mad? It would indeed be madness to put so much faith in such a little and seemingly insignificant coin. But the most brilliant plans always have a hint of madness. Yours is rather ingenious in fact."

For a few seconds which seemed to last an eternity, Dumbledore kept looking at the DA coin, face inscrutable. Finally, Dumbledore posed the DA coin on the table and searched for his wand.

He put it on the coin which began emitting a golden glow.

Dumbledore slowly pocketed his wand and coughed. "I-I suppose you'll find soon enough if that trust was warranted. I-I have to warn you however that it is… highly possible nothing is going to happen. It _is_ quite a long shot after all."

Harry sighed and pocketed his fake Galleon. "I know. But just in case, I need you to do something for me."

"Anything."

As Harry talked about his friends being attacked in the Department of Mysteries, the previously impassive face hardened.

"What were you all even _doing_ in the Department of Mysteries?"

Harry opened his mouth to defend himself and suddenly hesitated. "Does it really matter?" he tried, not willing to talk about Voldemort or the Boy-Who-Lived or that prophecy apparently connecting them. "I know I fucked up but I _need_ you to go and save my friends. It-It'll make sense in the future but you wouldn't- you wouldn't understand today."

Dumbledore looked at him and Harry suddenly felt like he was twelve and the auburn-haired one-hundred and something and that Professor Dumbledore was looking at him behind his half-moon glasses because he had just said he had 'nothing' to tell him about the Chamber of Secrets.

Except this Dumbledore didn't have glasses so he wasn't _actually_ looking at him over his half-moon glasses.

"Very well then. Can I have a date at least?"

"R-Right, the date."

Harry tried to remember the exact date but slowly realized he wasn't sure anymore if it happened the 18th or the 19th.

"The year is 1996," he slowly began. "June 1996. And-And I don't remember _exactly_ the date b-but it was during our OWLs. I was sitting my OWL in History that day. I don't know if that helps but-"

Dumbledore's face considerably brightened. "It does help tremendously actually. So on Tuesday the 18 th of June 1996, I am expected to go on a rescue mission." He smiled. "I suppose I can fit this in my busy timetable."

Harry sighed in relief. "Thank you." At least, his friends would be safe.

"You're welcome. Now that this matter has been tackled down, I must ask you what you are going to do now."

"I told you, I'll wait for the DA coin to-"

"Harry," he softly interrupted, "it- I know you are putting a lot of faith in this plan, but you need to understand, it isn't..." He sighed. "It is highly likely it will not work."

"It will," he stubbornly replied. Seeing the other man, he sighed. "I suppose I'll try to find another way to go back. Like, I'll look what there is on time travel in the library and from that I'll…" He dazedly blinked and remembered he _wasn't_ Hermione and that Hermione would not somehow find just the right book to save his sorry arse this time.

God, how he missed her.

"Well, we'll see what to do then," he concluded. "I just… I'll work on the details later. First thing first, find all there is on time travel in the library."

But Dumbledore slowly shook his head. "A rather good beginning, I suppose, but there is just one little flaw in your plan. You see, Harry, you seem to be operating under the assumption that the mean to travel through time has already been discovered."

Harry's heart _stopped_.

"I regret to inform you it hasn't. And even if it has," Dumbledore softly continued, "it must be its very early days. In any case, it is the Department of Mysteries that will research time travel. And there is a good reason why we call those who work in this deparment 'Unspeakables'."

There had been no time-turner in the Departement of Mysteries, Harry horrifyingly remembered. So many rooms, but not a single one had anything remotely connected to time. But why would there be one? After all…

Nobody was studying time travel.

Harry shakily hid his face behind his hands. "B-But it will, right?" he shakily asked. "And-And there _has to_ be a way!"

"Harry-"

"There _has_ to be a way! _I-I have to go back_!"

"Harry-"

"You don't understand, _I have to go home_! I just- I _can't_ stay here! I just _can't_!"

Harry suddenly imagined himself as an old man. An old man Professor Dumbledore's age talking to his friends who were still fifteen. An old man Professor Dumbledore's age who had to live through _an entire century_ until he could just see them again.

"The DA coin will work," he firmly told him, unwilling to even _think_ about that old dingbat his mind had just conjured. "It has to."

Dumbledore looked like he had just swallowed something very sour. "I'm just saying," he tried to keep his voice even, "that you need to think about this possibility."

"Well, if it doesn't work, I'll find another way!" he stubbornly replied. He crossed his arms and glared at Dumbledore. After a few seconds, he sighed. "Look, I _really_ need to go home. I know it doesn't make sense to you but it is important. I have to go back home."

For a second, the wizard seemed like he wanted to speak, his blue eyes seemingling trying to tell him something important.

But then Dumbledore closed his eyes and softly breathed. "I understand. Do you..." His lips streched in a humourless smile. "I know that I am just some lowly Hogwarts student at the present moment to you-" He raised a hand before Harry could protest "-nonetheless I suppose I can attempt to find a way to help you if you so need."

Harry opened his mouth but no word immediately came.

Truth be told, he had never once thought Dumbledore wouldn't help him and had actually counted on him to find a way out. But now that he was thinking about it, he was basically asking some boy his age he's just met to succeed in doing the impossible.

And why should that boy _actually_ help him? It was not as if they were friends, Harry was nothing to him. He was just some weird new student to him. He was not Hogwarts Headmaster or even the old and wise wizard in his time who seemed to have been watching over him for quite some time, this Albus Dumbledore here had no responsibility to him.

 _But it is Albus Dumbledore_ , a treachous voice in his head whispered. _Of course he's supposed to help you._

"T-Thank you. I don't..." Harry tried to smile but only managed a grimace. "I know I'm asking a lot from you, but I… I actually need a hand there. In case you haven't noticed." He tried a laugh. "Who knows? Maybe we're just worrying for nothing I'll be gone tomorrow."

But even if his plan didn't work, at least he knew now he wasn't on his own and Harry found it easier to breathe.

* * *

When Albus opened his eyes it was to face an all too familiar ceiling.

He sighed and closed his eyes. "Dammit."

"He's awake!" He heard Virginia exclaiming and Albus could stop a wince at the loud voice.

"Step aside," the matron's voice ordered the witch and before he knew it her wand was over his face. "You're lucky Miss Selwyn found you right after the explosion, Mister Dumbledore. You could have _died_."

He raised an eyebrow at that information. "An explosion."

"Why do you think we do not allow children to brew potions unsupervised?" she exclaimed. "Brewing potions in the dungeons in the middle of the night, what madness drove you to do _that_?"

Albus grimaced but didn't answer. She wouldn't understand anyway.

When Albus had decided to repair the new student's pen knife, his work on his reverse forgetfulness potion had to be put on hold. He had tremendously enjoyed fixing that pen knife but that had put him behind schedule when it came to his potion. Meaning he had been brewing outside his regular schedule to compensate.

"Any idea what caused the explosion?" he asked.

"MISTER DUMBLEDORE!"

He supposed it didn't matter anymore, he lamented. If he had previously been on a tight schedule, he now had hit the deadline. There was no way he could rebrew his potion, or create another one from scratch and send it on time.

It was with great difficulty that he left his bed. "Can I go to class, madam?"

The matron's face reddened in rage but she reluctantly nodded. Still, she hissed, "One day you will kill yourself if you continue thinking you know better than everybody else. Or worse, _somebody else_ will die."

He pleastantly smiled at her. "Duly noted, madam. Now, I shall not bother you more than I already have. I am sure many other students need your care more than I do."

When he and Virginia finally left, he sighed and summoned his schoolbag. "I suppose I should thank you for saving my life."

"You really should listen to her," the other prefect told him. "I thought… I really thought you were dead for a moment."

"I'm sorry I scared you," he softly told her. "That was never my intention, believe me." Before Virginia could guilttrip him even further, he headed to the dungeons. "Still, after my incident, it seems rather ironic that I am heading for the dungeons to brew even more potientially fatal potions."

But instead of scoffing at him, the girl just frowned. "Why would you even go back there?"

Albus blinked. "Because we have potions." Seeing her slowly shaking her head, he sighed. "What day is it then?"

"Wednesday," she answered and Albus sighed again.

If there was one thing Albus hated more than waking up in the infirmary after a potion or a spell gone wrong, it was waking up in the infirmary after a potion or a spell gone wrong and realizing he had lost some part of his memories. It seemed in this instance that Tuesday had been entirely erased.

Hopefully, he hadn't forgotten anything too important.


	12. The End?

It was a very happy Harry who woke up on Wednesday.

Telling Albus Dumbledore had truly relieved him. Now that Harry knew Albus Dumbledore knew he was a time traveler and that the future Headmaster was going to go save his friends in his future, it felt like an enormous weight had been lifted from his shoulders and he could breathe more easily. Even if the DA coin didn't send him home today, at least he had the certainty his friends were safe.

And, no matter what happened next, Harry now knew he was not alone in this blasted nineteenth century.

It was when Harry entered the Great Hall that he realized he had been whistling.

As he sat next to the blonde Weasley, Harry wondered if he shouldn't outright skip class and go some place safe for when he would be sent back to the future.

And then Harry remembered Dumbledore had sighed at that suggestion the other night.

" _You do not know if this will work,"_ he had reminded him. He had paused for a minute and added, " _And if it does, do not forget your friends will most certainly choose the best hour to tear you away from the past._ "

Meaning, Harry sighed as he summoned the pitch of pumkin juice and started eating breakfast, that it should be before or after class but not _during_ class. Most probably after.

" _Correct,_ " Dumbledore had nodded once Harry had told him that. " _And it will undoubtedly happen tomorrow if your plan works. But if it doesn't-_ "

" _If it doesn't, that means it failed, right?"_

Dumbledore had slowly nodded. " _You have to consider that possibility._ _This is why you need to operate with the assumption it will_ not _work. Harry,_ ' he had softly told him before the time-traveller could say anything, "w _hen you make such plan, you need to cover all your bases, consider the possibility your first plan will fail and have a contingency plan in such case._ _And if that second plan fails, you need to have a contengy plan for your contengy plan. And so on until one of them ultimately comes to fruitition._ "

The fact the wizard had a point didn't mean he had to like it.

Harry sighed and left Gryffindor table to go to class, wondering if anybody would _actually_ notice him vanishing if it happened during History of Magic.

He supposed he would never have his answer for he _hadn't_ vanished in History of Magic.

When Harry entered the Divination classroom, he tried to remember what they had said they were going to do if if wasn't home tomorrow.

Dumbledore had closed his eyes when Harry had told him they would find another mean to travel back. " _That is hardly going to be easy, Harry. You're operating blind and there is at the present moment no lead reguarding time travel. More than that, it is extraordinarily dangerous to deal with this kind of magic when one does not know what they are doing. You could severely injure yourself or die_."

Harry hadn't said he was used to danger. " _I don't even think I will even have the beginning of an idea,"_ he had just said, which was also true.

Ultimately, they had both decided to research separatedly what to do and to compare their findings at the end of the school year if they were still at a dead-end.

" _You'll tell me if you've got something before that, right?_ "

" _O-Of course_."

Elphias Doge stared at his hand. "I'm not really sure what to make of your life line," he finally confessed.

Harry shook his head and tried to mentally banish Dumbledore's face. "I'm probably going to die after class."

Elphias blinked. "Why would you say that?" Harry shrugged. "Sir?" Elphias raised his hand and the Divination Professor walked in their direction. "I've got problems reading his palm," he told him.

"Alright, let's see what the problem is." The wizard took Harry's hand and raised his eyebrows. "Well, that's not you, Mister Doge. What have you done to your poor hand?" he asked Harry. "That's way beyond Ordinary Wizarding Level. You should find a less difficult partner for today's class, Mister Doge."

Harry glanced at his own palm while Elphias left to join the blonde Weasley and shrugged. "Looks normal to me."

"Of course you do, it's your hand." He intently looked at him and told him, "Now, I'm not a chiromancer but it looks like you've got a rather complicated relationship with death."

Harry thought about it and shrugged. "I guess so."

He took Harry's other hand and slowly shook his head. "At least it's clear which divination branch is best for you. An advice for you: _never_ show your hand to a talented chiromancer, or anybody believing in divination."

Harry tried not to roll his eyes. "What's so wrong with my hand?"

"You've died seven times," he finally said and Harry blinked. "And, apparently, you'll die many more times, I admit I didn't bother counting. And that's not taking into account all the life and death situations you've been or will be in," he told Harry who was now staring at him. His lips curled. "It's either that, or you found it funny to rewrite your own lines and mess with your poor innocent classmate. Now, which one is the truth?"

He didn't wait for an answer and got up. "Open your book page 89 and read chapter seven. Also, it is highly inadvisable for you to skip detention this evening."

Harry frowned. "Wait, detention? It's tonight?"

He nodded. "Now that you're staying here, they're no avoiding it."

Harry opened his mouth to protest but stopped at the sight of the man's electric eyes.

"You _will_ be here this evening," he told him, his tone breaking no argument. "Is that understood?"

Harry closed his mouth and reluctantly nodded.

* * *

It was with much energy that Albus walked to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom after his passage in the library during lunch.

Professor Merrythought was without a doubt a highly competent witch. Indeed, after some persuasion, he had learned from his professors that the witch was a former Auror who had only left active service to marry and have a family life. Meaning that, while she didn't _quite_ know how to handle a class yet, she was incredibly talented in the art of defense against the dark arts.

Albus knew Hogwarts was the best magical school in the world for a reason, but even he had to admit he was impressed they had managed to hire her.

But then again, it was _Defence Against the Dark Arts_. And if Dumstrang was well-known to study the Dark Arts, Hogwarts was well-known to have some preference concerning Defence Against the Dark Arts and whoever got the spot was guaranteed to have good recommandation to publish their work and a good salary.

No, if Albus Dumbledore could be sure about one thing, it was that there will _never_ be a problem for filling this position with competent teachers. It should have been a given their teacher would be somebody of her caliber.

Albus stopped whistling the Nutcracker opening and opened the door to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom.

Seeing Harry was already inside, he smiled and walked in his direction. "Good afternoon, Harry."

Harry turned in his direction and gave him a small smile. "Afternoon. I didn't see during lunch. Or breakfast."

"Yes, yes." Albus considered telling him about his brief passage in the infirmary and ultimately considered it wasn't important enough to bother the new student. "I had to do some research so I skipped lunch," he smoothly replied.

While it was true his potion was unsalvageable, he still had other projects to complete. With his current timetable and the responsabilities he had as a Prefect, he had to optimize his timetable the best he could so he needed to move on and go to his next project.

"Oh. _Oh_." Harry turned his head and strangely looked at him. "I see". After a few seconds when more students started entering the classroom, he hesitantly added, "You should take care of yourself though. Like… it's not good to spend all your time working. Enjoy your time here."

Albus fought a sigh and instead calmly said, "It is very important, Harry. Far more important than class or a few skipped lunches."

If Albus wanted to do anything with his life and have a rather good situation before he turned thirty, he needed to cover his bases and have all the good cards in his hand. That meant he had to work hard and show everybody he was good at what he did. If he wanted to go past the stain his father has put in the family name, he couldn't afford any moment of frivolity like his classmates and had to work harder than ever.

The wizard's cheeks slowly reddened. "I- _I_ _know_. Like- I know. I know you work hard and I'm … I'm just saying," he told him, "that you should _also_ take care of yourself."

Albus smiled at him. "Duly noted."

Their conversation stopped at the entrance of Phineas Black. Harry grimaced and told him he had accepted to partner with him in Defence Against the Dark Arts.

"You don't mind, right?"

Albus shook his head. "Not at all," he told him, even though he had to admit a tiny part of him _did_. "I-I'm glad to see you're making friends outside Gryffindor," he added. That was evidence that the wizard was now feeling more comfortable at Hogwarts after all.

The new student smiled at him and left him to join the Slytherin prefect.

The Headmaster's son might look utterly bored to the untrained eyes, Albus knew his classemates enough to know he was very pleased of himself. Why he was, Albus didn't actually know but he supposed that was because he had managed to befriend the new student first.

Or maybe there was something slightly more sinister at work. Phineas Black Junior may not be a bad person, he was still a Black and a Slytherin, a person who would use the people he had under his hand to reach whatever goal he had decided to set. Maybe he was only using Harry and pretending to be his friend for utterly selfish reasons.

The Slytherin turned his head in his direction and, noticing he had been staring, _winked_.

Albus' left eyebrow twiched.

* * *

"Good afternoon everybody," Galatea Merrythought said as she went to the front of the classroom. "I hope you all had a good weekend. Now, I suppose we should begin with our weekly duel. Does anybody want to volunteer and go to the duelling circle?"

Albus smiled and slowly raised his hand.

Even though he and Harry were not partner in class, Professor Merrythought may choose them again if nobody volunteered. Today might just be day Albus would manage avenge his honour.

But the witch ignored his hand. Seeing nobody else had raised theirs, she started musing, "I suppose I will have to choose. Let's see… Mister Black and Mister..." She pointed at a Slytherin with straw blonde hair. "I'm afraid I do not have your name," she admitted.

"Slughorn, ma'am. Horace Slughorn."

"Mister Slughorn, you will duel Mister Black. Now, if the two of you would please go to the dueling circle."

From the corner of his eyes, Albus noticed Black facepalming and muttering something to Harry before walking in the center of the room with as much enthousiasm as a man going to the guillotine.

Horace on the other hand jovially went to the duelling circle. "Is it not jolly that we are the ones to open the second duel this year, Black? Why, I couldn't have asked for a better partner for what our new and rather talented tea-"

"Sluggy, _shut up_."

'Sluggy' just grinned. "Now I have to say this. I know how talented you can be with cursing. So be gentle with me please?"

Phineas Black pretended to think about it for a second. Finally, he smiled.

Everybody shuddered, for it was the _very_ smile Headmaster Black had whenever he was in a 'good' mood.

"No."

* * *

"You're a terrible lucky charm," Black remarked as he started casting the disarming charm. Harry's wand flew to his hand. "Absolutely terrible."

The duel had barely lasted two minutes and by the time he was done, Slughorn was unsconcious and had to be sent to the infirmary for his burns.

"You weren't supposed to make him K.O."

"K.O?"

Harry paused. "Knocked out."

"Listen, Potter. Incapacitating your opponent is a valid move in duelling. It's not my fault he burned himself!"

One of the first things Phineas Black had done was to send a rather powerful blast of water in the other Slytherin's direction. Once he had done so, he had transfigured the water to ice and trapped the wizard. In order to free himself, Slughorn had casted a powerful incendio on himself, forgetting he was most probably going to burn.

Black had then casted several spells in his direction and the boy had tried to avoid them.

Problem was, the water on the floor had been _also_ turned to ice.

He threw the holly wand to Harry. "I wonder, how would you have fared had you been Sluggy?"

Harry absolutely didn't know. And, he thought as he swiftly casted the disarming charm, he wasn't sure he wouldn't have made the same mistake.

Professor Merrythought during the reviewing had explained that Phineas Black's tactic, while unorthodox, had been ingenious. After all, he had taken control of the duelling circle and put a handicap on Slughorn who couldn't from then operate freely. She had then asked what Slughorn should have done.

" _Maybe he shouldn't have tried to free himself,_ " he had proposed to the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor who had just nodded. " _I mean… he could still move his hand_."

Harry got two point for his answer but, Harry was aware, it was easy to see that when you weren't _actually_ dealing with this problem.

"No clue."

Black's lips twiched. "At least you're honest."

Harry raised his wand to cast the disarming charm but the Slytherin swiftly waved his wand and Harry's wand was the one which flew away.

Surprisingly, it was not his duel against Albus Dumbledore but the one he had just seen which showed him how far he still had to go. Not everybody would spam curses Harry would just need to dodge, not everybody would be stupid enough to give him an opening. Not all Death Eaters would be like Malfoy. And Voldemort was most certainly a far, far better duellist than Black or any of his followers.

"What would you have done?" Black blinked but Harry repeated the question, "Had he been the one thowing this charm at you, and had you been the one trapped, what would you have done?"

Black blinked once more. "What would I have done?" For a second, it seemed like he was at loss. "W-Well I suppose…" he started musing, "I suppose I would have- no, that'd be a terrible idea. Maybe I'd -not that either."

For a few seconds, the wizard seemed lost in thoughts and Harry wondered if he remembered he still had Harry's wand.

But finally it in his direction and Harry hurriedly grabbed it before it could fall on the floor.

"Had I been Sluggy," he began, a self-satisfied smirk on his face, "I would have replied in kind and trapped him too. After all, if both opponents have the same handicap, it's as if there is none at all."

* * *

Never had Harry been so happy to leave to leave Defence Against the Dark Arts.

It was not that the class was bad. It was very good in fact. But now, Harry knew he could go home at any time.

True, he had detention. But even if Harry were to suddenly vanish right in front of him, it wouldn't be the end of the world.

Harry considered once more skipping it but Dumbledore's warning the previous day reminded him it would be a terrible idea.

Harry sighed and slowly began heading to the Divination classroom, hoping that he'd suddenly vanish and be brought back to 1996 before he reached the top of the tower.

But reaching the top of the tower he did, and Harry entered the room where the paintings of eyes stared at him.

Professor Mesmer raised his nose from the book he was reading and blinked. ""It's already five?" He closed his book. "Oh well. It does not really matter, I suppose. You're here at least."

Harry's eyes looked at the cover and he couldn't stop being slightly annoyed at the realization this was one of the books on _Occlumency_ Professor Mesmer had borrowed him right before he could.

"What am I supposed to do, sir?"

"There's a pen on the table in front of you," he began as he took his satchel and opened it. He retrieve several sheets of parchement. "Because I'm a dark and very evil wizard, your punichement is to do this test."

"Wait, what?"

"Well, I don't know where you are in your studies," he replied. "Did your former teacher teach you tassomancy? Oneiromancy? Chiromancy? Osteromancy? Lithomancy? _Dictiomancy_? I need to know that, so..." He put the test on the table. "Good luck." He glanced at the test and grimaced. "You'll need it. You'll really, _really_ need it."

Harry sighed and morosely took the pen.

And stared when he saw the first question.

"Sir, what is abacomancy?"

"Oh, it's another term for amathomancy." Seeing Harry's puzzled face, he explained, "That is the noble art of interpretating patterns in dust, dirt, silt, sand, or even the ashes of the recently deceased to see the future."

And to that Harry just said, "Ah."

His lips twiched. "Like I said, I have no idea how you were taught divination. There are many means to read the future. For example, I prefer pallomancy and oculomancy but I know some who have predispositions for cleromancy, stichomancy or even haruspicy." The older wizard who finally smiled when Harry stared. "There are _so_ many means to read the future, Mister Potter. And we have given a difficult name for _all of them_."

Harry looked back to his test. Slowly, he turned the first page.

Maybe question two was going to be better.

It wasn't.

* * *

Three hours later, Harry weakly gave his copy back.

Professor Mesmer glanced at it. "My Third Eye tells me you've got a Dreadful."

The sad part in all that was that Harry believed him.

"You're not going to get your Outstanding in Divination if you do not work hard, Mister Potter," he concluded. "Even with your predispositions, you won't. _Especially_ with your predispositions." Harry frowned and the 'seer' explained, "I myself barely passed my Ordinary Wizarding Level in Divination after all." He summoned a cristal ball. "So, try to tell me the future. You will only leave once you start foreseeing something."

Harry looked at the cristal ball. Weakly, he asked, "What?"

"Foresee something and you're free to go. Don't and you stay here until dawn."

"P-Professor Mesmer," Harry slowly tried. "I am _not_ a seer."

"With spectacles like yours, I've figured."

"I _cannot_ see the future," he insisted. "I'm sorry but I can't."

He raised an eyebrow and intently looked at him. "And why?" Harry considered telling him nobody could see the future. "Ah, I see." He nodded and pointed in his direction. "You're one of _these_. A non-believer. You think nobody can know what the future is going to be like. But then I have to ask this question: if nobody can _possibly_ know what tomorrow is going to be like, why are you here?"

Harry hesitated. "I know that _some_ can have visions or make... or make prophecies."

At the last word, the wizard's face hardened.

"But that is because they are Seers."

"Prophets. Only prophets can make prophecies," he tightly corrected.

But Harry ignored him. "If you do not have that gift... then it's pointless to try."

Professor Mesmer blankly looked at him.

Finally, he snorted. "So basically I'm being paid to teach you something that cannot be taught? Anybody can foresee, Mister Potter, given some basic training." Seeing he wasn't convinced, the wizard's lips twiched. "Alright then, let me ask you this: do you play Quidditch?"

Harry blinked at the non-sequitur. "W-Well..."

"I'm sure you do. Now, do you remember your last Quidditch match?"

At the memory of that fateful Quidditch match when Umbridge had banned him to play Quidditch for life and taken his Firebolt, Harry's face darkened.

"You do, don't you? If you close your eyes I'm sure you could remember the other Seeker, the crowd's screams…"

 _Weasley cannot save a thing,_  
 _He cannot block a single ring,_  
 _That's why Slytherins all sing:_  
 _Weasley is our King._

Harry shook his head, trying to chase the memory of Slytherins' cursed song. "Yes."

"Funny things, are they not? Memories. Good memories, bad memories, anything can spark them and bring us back to the instant they happened. But that moment is gone, is it not? It is gone and it will never come back. So let me ask you this: what is the difference between foreseeing and looking back?"

Harry stopped and incredulously looked at him. "What?"

"Foreseeing. Looking back. What's the difference?" Harry spluttered and Professor Mesmer smirked. "Nothing really. Only the direction. So all you need to do is just to turn your head."

There was something incredibly wrong with that sentence.

But Harry couldn't figure out what.

* * *

Two hours later, Harry weakly left the Divination classroom.

After bluffing like crazy, he had managed to escape his detention. First he had tried to tell him he was going to die in atrocious circumstances but the wizard had just rolled his eyes and muttered something about blind owls. Then Harry had told him he was going to travel far, far away and that he was not going to be in class tomorrow.

"No, you stay here," he had replied.

Then had begun an insane guessing game where Harry would say the first thing in his mind and the other man would put him down.

It was with great difficulty that Harry headed to the seventh floor, and it was mumbling he _really_ had enough of this blasted century that Harry started walking three times in front of where he knew the door leading to the Room of Requirement was. When Harry opened it, his heart stopped.

In his hurry, Harry had asked the room to bring him home.

And the room had done just that, for it was the DA room that was on the other side.

Harry slowly closed the door behind him and couldn't help walking in the middle of the room where the large silk cushions the DA used to sit on were. Would use to sit on.

For five entire minutes, Harry honestly believed he had done it. For five entire minutes, Harry thought he was back in 1996 and that Hermione would at any moment open the door and ask him what they were going to learn today, pointedly ignoring Ron right behind her telling her they were _not_ in class.

And then common sense came back. One look at the title of the books on the wooden bookcases showed they were not the ones Harry had used. Probably because these books would not be written before a _very_ long time.

Even the Room of Requirement's magic, it seemed, had its limits.

Harry sighed and took the DA coin in his pocket and raised it above his head.

"Please, work."

He had seen how uneasy Dumbledore had been at the sight of the DA coin. He knew he must have looked desperate -probably because he was- but, he had then tried to reason, Hermione had loosely based the DA coin on the Dark Mark. And Harry _knew_ , for he had seen it, that the Dark Mark could be used to summon other Death Eaters. Not one word, and yet they had all known where they were supposed to apparate.

Harry suddenly wondered if he was supposed to leave the castle. One couldn't apparate at Hogwarts after all.

Probably not. If Harry had to be somewhere, he had to be somewhere where they would know he was going be.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry sighed and sat on a silk cushion and began looking at the grandfather clock that had appeared on the wall.

Ten thirty. There was still time. All Harry had to do was to wait and he'd be home with his friends safe.

As he waited, Harry suddenly regretted not saying goodbye to the young Dumbledore. The wizard had been kind enough to help him and he seemed rather intent on finding a way for him to go home and Harry hadn't even bothered doing so little when he was doing so much.

He'd have to apologize to the old Dumbledore, wherever the old man was.

At eleven thirty, It suddenly occured to him that Professor Dumbledore had _known_ this was going to happen. From the very beginning, he had known.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

He supposed he would be able to ask him soon enough. Why he had let him get stuck in the past without any warning, and why he hadn't managed to look at him in the eyes the entire year. For how grateful he was of the young Dumbledore, he had to admit there were things he needed to say to the old one.

At eleven forty-five, Harry suddenly remembered what Dumbledore had told him before leaving the Common Room to do this reverse forgetfullness potion.

" _Harry, I do not want... I don't want to worry you, but it may just be possible that it will take some time for you to be in 1996_."

" _The DA coin-_ "

" _Harry... It_..." The prefect had looked pained. " _I know you are putting all your hopes in this but it... It is a very long shot. You have to at least acknowledge_ _that_." Harry had pretended not to listen and he had sighed. _"Even if I could help you find a way to go home, it would not happen overnight. Do you understand that, at least? We may be talking weeks here. O-Or months. I just want you to-"_

He had then stopped talking and swallowed. " _I know you miss your friends terribly, Harry,"_ he had slowly begun _. "I just... I just want you to know that you should not refuse to enjoy your time here because they're not with you. I just think that you should also... Enjoy your time here. Not necessarily see it as a punishment for your mistakes."_

Harry had then snorted. _"What? I'm supposed to think I'm on holidays?"_

 _"J-Just think about it, will you? F-For me? It-It doesn't have to be a death sentence for you, being here."_

Eleven fifty, and Harry was finally willing to admit this may not work at all.

He knew Albus was working really hard to find a way to bring him home. He knew he didn't have to do that for him. He knew he was trying to waste as little time as possible. All of that, he knew.

And Harry also knew it was wrong of him to put all this burden on the prefect's shoulders and be ungrateful. He was not his house-elf, and Harry should not push him into working himself into the ground.

So _maybe_ , just maybe, for Albus' sake, Harry should respect his wish. Maybe he should just try not to be an ungrateful ass like he often was and bother him every five minutes with his problems. And it was not like it was _completely_ awful there. Like, there was no Ministry of Magic to slander him and no Voldemort trying to kill him in the near future. And with Albus Dumbledore having his back, maybe he _could_ allow himself to relax just a tiny bit.

When Harry woke up the next morning, he was still in 1896.

And, although Harry couldn't stop feeling disappointed and slightly upset, he just sighed and swore he'd at least try to respect Dumbledore's wish.


	13. The very beginning of some plan

The young Dumbledore thankfully didn't say anything about him still being here when he entered the Common Room. No, 'I told you so' or 'I tried to warn you', he just kept going as if nothing was wrong at all.

Harry packed his bag with a heavy sigh and shakily pinched his nose.

Nothing had changed really. The DA coin had just been a gamble from a desperate man. One that didn't pay off. If Harry wanted to go home, it was now clear there would be no easy path for him to take.

Harry tried to imagine how, on earth, he was supposed to find a way to travel to the future when time travel had yet to be invented and grimaced.

Somehow, he doubted he would manage to even present the beginning of an idea when he and Albus were going to compare notes.

"Albus, I'm _really_ counting on you," he said under his breath. He then grimaced when he realized what he had just said.

It's not as if he really had a choice there, Harry tried to justify himself. Either the fifteen years old Dumbledore managed to find the mean for him to go home, or Harry was stuck in the _nineteenth century_.

But was it really alright to put such weight on his shoulders? he couldn't help wondering. If this Dumbledore was older, if this was Professor Dumbledore, then Harry wouldn't feel so uneasy. Was it really alright to let a boy his age shoulder such an enormous task?

Not quite ready to ponder this question, Harry left Gryffindor Tower and headed for the Great Hall.

It was not as if he didn't have other problems to deal with, he thought as he sat next to Albus. If there now was one person who knew he was a time-traveller, Harry was perfectly aware the less people knew, the better. He couldn't allow anybody else to find out, even by accident. _Especially_ not by accident.

Meaning, and everything seemed to come back to this, that Harry _needed_ to learn Occlumency.

Harry groaned over his plate.

With all the books on the subjects taken by Professor Mesmer, this wasn't going to be easy. And Harry might have some basis, he was aware he _needed_ to get better. So, either Harry could find a way to get a few books on occlumency from his Divination Professor, or Harry needed to find a proper teacher.

Harry stilled and slowly turned his head.

Albus was peacefully eating, a book in his hands and the toast floating in front of him and flying to his mouth every few seconds. Feeling his glaze, he turned his head. "Is anything the matter?"

The toast hit his cheek and Albus sighed as he took his napkin to wipe the raspberry jam off him. "Needs more work, I suppose. Is there anything wrong, Harry?"

Harry considered the idea in his head for a few seconds. Finally, he shook his head.

He couldn't ask the young Dumbledore to solve all his problems. Moreover, he tried to reason, if the young Dumbledore were to waste his time on trying to teach him occlumency –and Harry didn't even _know_ if this Dumbledore knew occlumency- then he'd waste precious, valuable time.

Besides, if Harry couldn't find a way to go home, the least he could do was to _finally_ learn occlumency on his own.

"It's nothing."

He'd just have to find a way to get these blasted books from Professor Mesmer and teach himself. Do it seriously this time and _finally_ master this mind art instead of slacking off and thinking he knew better.

It was because he hadn't managed the first time he was in this mess after all.

* * *

"Sir?" Harry tried after his luck after class. Professor Mesmer raised his head. Seeing Harry, his lips twitched.

"I was wondering…" Harry closed his eyes and deeply inhaled. "I've heard from the librarian that you've borrowed a few books regarding occlumency."

His lips twitched again. "I have," he confirmed. "For some reason, I had a sudden urge to read about it."

"I was wondering…" He carefully tried to choose his next words. "When do you think you will finish reading them and give them back to the library?"

"Oh, I've already read them all," he informed him. "I just like reading them to my leisure whenever I fancy and I have frankly no idea when I will be properly bored." Seeing Harry blankly looking at him, he chuckled. "I suppose you are interested in learning more about occlumency." Harry didn't answer. "I suppose it is to be expected," he began musing. "Still, I have to ask: why exactly do you want to learn this noble art?"

Harry didn't answer, and for a couple of minutes, the two wizards looked at each other.

Finally, Harry sighed. "I've had… visions," he slowly began and the other man leant to hear more. "I think they are right. About me knowing… things about the future."

He had thought about his problem during the entire lesson. How he was supposed to get these books and how he would manage to hide the fact he was a time traveller from the rest of the school who seemed intent on watching his every move ever since that duel against Dumbledore.

Ultimately, he had decided being considered a 'seer' by almost everybody was, in a rather strange plot twist, probably a blessing in disguise. He knew something about the future? He was a Seer, that was to be expected. Let them think they had the right idea, it was close enough to the truth he didn't need to create some convoluted story.

And if he could manage convince to the Divination Professor he was a real seer, then maybe he could just convince him to give him these bloody books.

Professor Mesmer's lips twitched. "That is _clearly_ not what you told me yesterday."

Harry bit his cheeks and, as he shook his head, tried to channel his best imitation of Professor Trelawney. "I suppose I was afraid of the truth. Having the Third Eye... It is a heavy burden."

"It has its perks sometimes, but yes… I suppose so."

"And I was running away from the truth. I… I See that now."

Considering the man's face, he had head the capital just fine.

Harry dramatically sighed and, trying to channel all the bluffing skills he's acquired in Divination, he added, "But I am afraid that… some wizards would try to find what I know. Terrible dark wizards who would try to use divination to further their goals and I just-" He paused a second. "I just want to protect my mind and the messages the Greater Beings will send me."

Professor Mesmer crossed his arms and looked at the ceiling. After a few deep breaths, he said, "You're making a valid point," he slowly began. "A very valid point." He took a book on his desk and handed him to Harry. "I suppose I can lend it to you. Still," he said as he suddenly took the book back, "I wish to have some proof of this Third Eye. So, can I finally have a prediction? I was rather disappointed last night and I need some reassurance you _do_ know a few things about the future and are not trying to nab me."

Harry's mind went blank.

"Oh, I do not know if I should-"

Professor Mesmer's electric blue eyes seemed to stare at his soul. "I insist."

For a few seconds, Harry looked at his new Divination Professor, mind racing to find a way out.

And suddenly, he knew what he just needed to do.

"Professor Binns is going to die." Professor Mesmer raised an eyebrow but Harry continued, "He will die and become a ghost. And he will keep teaching History of Magic, as if there was nothing wrong in the world and generations of students will have to bear with him."

Mesmer's face was thoughtful. "Is he?" He closed his eyes and sighed. "That'd be a horrible fate for these poor students," he said as he opened them again. Finally, he gave him the book. "I suppose we will find out soon enough. You still need to work on your skills, but I suppose this is satisfying enough for the time being. Now, you should go before you are late for your next class.

Harry thanked him and took the book.

"Oh and Mister Potter?" he suddenly said as Harry was about to close the door. "Fifteen points to Slytherin."

* * *

The book was dry and, no matter how hard he would try to focus, he couldn't help yawning or trying to find some excuse to just avoid spending more time on it.

Still, he persevered and took the habit of reading it whenever he could, a charm Hermione had showed him when Umbridge had banned the Quibbler allowing him to make it pass it as his potion book. It's not as if he had a choice, really. After all, even if there hadn't been the time travel problem, there still was the Voldemort problem.

Harry grimaced and unconsciously rubbed his scar.

He hoped this hadn't been real but, considering his current luck, he had the feeling this was unfortunately very real. And if Voldemort was in his head, then his only defence was occlumency.

So Harry kept reading that blasted book, hoping that _this time_ he would manage to clear his mind.

It seemed to be even worse than when Snape was teaching him, sadly. No matter how hard he'd try, some thought would inevitably catch his attention and he'd start worrying, unable to think of something else. He'd wonder _why_ he had seen Voldemort during that hypnosis séance, _why_ Professor Dumbledore hadn't looked at him in the eyes for an entire year or told him he'd travel back in time, _how long_ he'd be stuck in the nineteenth century.

So many questions, and he knew he wouldn't have any answer before a very long time.

Sometimes, Harry would even start thinking about that prophecy in the Department of Mysteries.

Harry sighed, posed the book on the bedtable and sat on his four-posters bed.

If he could just… forget all his problems, if only for a minute, then Harry had no doubt he'd manage to get the hang of it. Or at least be on the right tracks.

 _Enjoy your time here. Not necessarily see it as a punishment for your mistakes_ _,_ Harry suddenly remembered Dumbledore telling him.

But how could he possibly enjoy his time in the past when there was all this to worry about? Even if that wasn't urgent, he knew this was, somehow, very important.

Harry sighed in his hands.

He just wished he could have a way to know he was on the right path, a way to know that he wasn't fucking everything up. A sign everything was going to be alright. Anything, at the point he was in, Harry wasn't going to be picky.

That's when he saw it .

Later, Harry would think he should have known better and shouldn't have tempted Fate who seemed to have chosen him as her favourite chew toy. But right now, Harry just blankly looked at what was on his pillow.

The green butterfly was _back_.

* * *

Albus looked at the butterfly. "Yes, it's the same one. No doubt about it."

The pattern on his wings was the same the one Albus had noticed when he had healed the poor animal. Moreover, for how much they've tried to heal the animal to the best of their abilities, the left wing hadn't completely healed and now had a zigzag-like mark.

"B-But why is he here? Why would he-"

Harry spluttered as the animal flew in his direction to delicately pose on his right shoulder.

"I suppose that means this good fellow likes you," he concluded with a smile. "And, he now has decided to stay with you."

"So what?" Arthorius snorted. "That means Potter has a pet now?"

A few girls nearby giggled and Harry shakily hid his face behind his hands.

The emerald butterfly flew on his head and the boys in the Common Room all snickered.

* * *

The new student was rather down, Albus couldn't help thinking.

Ever since he had entered the Common Room on Thursday morning, it had been obvious something was wrong. When Albus had asked him what it was, the boy had looked around them and, after considering their housemates, had just sighed he was homesick.

Albus had sympathetically smiled but, having never felt homesick himself, hadn't known what he was supposed to do. He had considered asking him what he missed but hadn't been sure it wouldn't actually make it worse. So he had pretended not seeing, hoping his mood would lift on its own.

Sadly, even if he seemed to be slightly better, the melancholy had yet to leave him. And, whenever he wasn't reading some book Albus had yet to read the title, he was either blankly looking at the butterfly who now seemed to be following him everywhere or heavily sighing.

Harry sighed.

Albus hesitated and ultimately closed his book on transfiguration. "I suppose you have a rather good understanding of the vanishing charm," he finally decided to say after a session where Albus had tried to help him with his homework. "So I should probably stop bothering you with it. Is there anything you want to do in particular?"

Harry imperceptibly shrugged. "Not really."

"There is something you like to do in peculiar when you're not working, I'm sure." Seeing Harry mutely shaking his head he insisted. "Now, that is just not true. There must be something you enjoy doing."

The wizard paused for a second. "I used to love flying."

"Used to?"

Harry shrugged. "Long story."

Albus frowned and was about to ask for clarification when he spotted Aberforth intently looking at a note on the wall.

"My apologies," he told him, eyes still on the Third Year. "I've got to verify something."

His brother reading anything was never a good sign.

When Albus finally read the note, he just said, "Ah."

Aberforth startled and glared at him. "I'm going to do it," he declared, his tone breaking no argument. "Whether you like it or not."

Albus slowly nodded. "It could be good for you." Seeing the younger boy startling, he sighed. "Did you really think I was going to say you shouldn't?"

Aberforth seemed to find the note rather fascinating. "I don't have the best marks in transfiguration," he admitted after a few seconds. "So I thought you'd tell me..." He didn't finish his sentence.

Albus sighed. "You don't," he acknowledged. "But I also think you should find a more productive way to spend your time. Fighting every Slytherin who says something you don't like must be rather repetitive after a while."

Aberforth mumbled something under his breath.

It could be good for him, Albus privately thought. Having some extracurricular activity where he could channel all his energy in a more productive way. And who knew? With some luck, Aberforth might even become a well-adjusted member of Gryffindor House, one he could call his little brother with pride.

Albus considered the idea for a few blissful seconds. Finally, he shook his head. "The twentieth eh?" he pretended musing. "I suppose I can be free for the twentieth."

Aberforth startled and glared at him. "If you come, I'll kill you!" Albus lowly chuckled and the glare intensified. "Now, go back to your books and leave me alone!"

Still chuckling, Albus walked back to Harry who seemed to have been observing them. "What is it about?"

"Oh, my brother just wants to join the Quidditch Team." Harry suddenly raised his head, a gleam of interest in his eyes and he elaborated, "I have to say, the odds he will get the spot he is no doubt seeking are rather in his favour. Will Aberforth joining the team be enough for Gryffindor to win the Cup however..." He sighed as he sat on his chair. "I suppose we will find soon enough."

For a minute, it looked as if the other was trying to pretend he was not curious at all. Finally, he asked, "Is the team any good?"

Albus sighed. "As a Gryffindor myself, I suppose I am obliged to answer by the affirmative. Our chasers are rather skilled."

"But?"

He hesitated. "But if we can be honest for a minute, that does not mean much considering how the game is being played." He raised a hand at his outraged face. "A goal from a chaser is only worth ten points," he explained. "Catching the Snitch is worth one hundred and fifty. _Meaning_ , that if the Seeker is not good, or if the opposing team has a far better seeker, the team has a rather serious handicap to overcome. The chasers must lead the other team by _at least_ sixteen goals to go around that problem."

"That's possible," Harry protested.

"Maybe," he acknowledged. "But unfortunately, a good seeker usually catches the snitch before that happens. And it has to be acknowledged that Slytherin's seeker is very good _and_ has a broom superior to most. Ever since he has entered the Quidditch Team, he has never failed to catch the Snitch." He sighed. "I suppose this is rather pessimistic of me, but I am rather confident that Slytherin will win the Quidditch Cup this year again."

"You just need to find a good seeker then," he fought back and Albus sighed at the Gryffindor's stubbornness. "And have a good strategy to deal with the other seeker."

"Problem is, a good seeker will not be enough. Victor Higgs is _very_ good from what little I understand and we need at minimum a seeker just as talented as he is to stand a chance. Somehow, I doubt we will find the right wizard to be that seeker."

Harry frowned. "Victor Higgs?" After seemingly considering the name he shrugged. "Never heard of him."

"And yet he is rather well-known, at least at Hogwarts. It is thanks to him that Slytherin has won the Quidditch Cup for the last four years. He has been elected Quidditch Captain and it is said that he will be recruited by the Chudley Cannons themselves, in other word, the best Quidditch Team in England, before he even leaves school."

Harry blankly looked at him. "The Chudley Cannons are a top Quidditch Team."

Albus nodded. Granted, the last four years have not been very kind but according to Aberforth that was because the last four coaches had been terrible. Now that they've replaced the last one with Jones, there was little doubt they would rise again, stronger than ever.

Or so he's heard.

Harry suddenly snickered. "Seriously, why are you so sure he's some great seeker?" he asked between two chuckles.

Albus sighed. "He is the youngest Quidditch player in a century."

Harry stopped chuckling.


	14. Quidditch tryout

"Up."

The broom jumped to his open palm and Harry couldn't stop a grin as he hurriedly mounted the broom in the darkened Quidditch pitch.

"What are you gonna do, eh Umbridge?" Harry viciously whispered under his breath. "You're not even born."

When he finally left the ground and started flying, something wonderful happened.

It wasn't just the ground he had left. As he flew higher, wind rushing through his hair, he realized that it was also all his fears he's left behind. All these worries he's had ever since he's time travelled, all his troubles, he's left them all on the ground and he was finally free. For as long as he was up there, he was free.

Harry laughed and playfully started flying around the pitch, for a few minutes not trying his more complicated moves yet. He just let the wind hit his face, barely realizing he was taking longer than usual to reach the goal posts or that he needed more force to change trajectory.

It was when he tried to brake that it happened.

Usually, whenever Harry was asking his broom to stop the broom stopped. It may take a couple of meters for the broom to do that, but barely more. This broom, however, it seemed, had a rather appalling braking distance.

Which meant that, rather than stopping where he wanted, Harry hit the wall.

Harry loudly swore and barely managed not to be ejected out of the broom which seemed to have gone crazy after the impact.

Harry put his hand on his nose in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

There was something seriously wrong with the broom, he couldn't help thinking as the broom kept shaking between his legs. When Harry finally landed on the ground, he took the broom and tried to see where the problem was.

When Harry read the name engraved on the handle, his heart stopped.

 _Oakshaft 79_.

That school broom he had borrowed was a bloody Oakshaft 79. The Oakshaft 79 which was created in 1879 and was well-known for its utter lack of agility and being the worst broom for Quidditch. The Oakshaft 79 whose place in Harry's mind had always been in a museum.

The Oakshaft 79 which currently was in Harry's hand.

Harry numbly looked at the broom.

Of course there were no Firebolt, no Comet, and no Nimbus, Harry couldn't help thinking. Even a Silver Arrow or a Moontrimmer, Harry wouldn't find one no matter how hard he searched.

All these brooms belonged to another century after all.

He heavily sighed.

That was bound to happen. Of course things were different here. Of course the Wizarding world has changed in one hundred years. Harry might not be able to see the differences, that didn't mean they didn't exist. It only meant Harry didn't know his world well enough to spot them most of the time.

The Oakshaft 79 was an antiquity to him, but that was because Harry didn't belong here. Every broom here was an antiquity in his eyes. And maybe the Oakshaft 79 was terrible for Quidditch and he had trouble controlling it because of that, Harry was painfully aware that they could give Harry the best broom in the world, it would not change a bloody thing and he would struggle all the same. Would he even manage to get the seeker position, considering how things currently were?

Harry looked at the blood in his hand and grimaced.

The way things currently were? No, he wouldn't. He was used to more obedient brooms and the Oakshaft 79 was anything but that. He didn't know how to control the broom and even a mere lap had been pushing it. Realistically, Harry shouldn't even dream of getting the seeker position and should rather go with the First Years to learn how to fly this antiquity.

It all came down to this, Harry thought. Could he go past this? Could he go past this and learn how to fly with that old broom that or was he bound to stay on the ground?

Harry considered the question and grimly smiled when he realized that basically summarized his entire situation.

Could he manage to go past everything and keep going, or would he crash and burn?

Slowly, he mounted the broom.

Only one way to find out, he supposed.

* * *

 _Albus Dumbledore_

 _1st Place_

 _Barnabus Finkley Prize_

Somebody spat on the trophy.

He then angrily started rubbing it with a rag.

He did it on purpose, didn't he? Aberforth furiously thought as he cleaned yet another prize in the trophy room. Not the whip, not the shackles, it would have been far too kind. No, it had to be that. Him cleaning Albus' bloody trophies all week.

He discretely eyed the caretaker and wondered if he could strike the trophy and get away with it.

Considering the glare he was giving him, no.

Last day, he mentally repeated, this is the last day. One more day and you'll never have to step a foot in that bloody room.

What was Albus expecting anyway? That he'd suddenly be inspired and try to do better in class? That he'd feel something akin to guilt because he was that stain in his otherwise unblemished record?

Well, Aberforth loved doing the opposite of what everybody expected him to do.

He stopped cleaning. For a second, he thought he had seen Albus' face looking at him on the now shiny trophy. Judging him.

But no, this was just his reflection.

Aberforth looked away.

Why did he have to look so much like him? he couldn't help thinking. They were nothing alike so why? Why did he have to look so alike when they were anything but? Albus was good in class when he was not, Albus was good with people when he was not, Albus was calm and collected like their mother when Aberforth had inherited their father's temper.

 _And yet_ , whenever somebody was looking at him, it was always Albus they were seeing and never Aberforth. Even their mother, she was always so busy looking for either Albus or their father in him that she was never looking at him.

The only one who really saw Aberforth for Aberforth was Ariana.

At the thought of his sister, Aberforth stopped rubbing the trophy and sighed.

In another world, he couldn't help thinking, she would be a First Year. In a better world, Ariana would be here, at Hogwarts, and Aberforth would be showing her all the best places in the castle not even Albus knew. And she would be so happy to be with her old friend who has asked him after thanking him for saving them from these Slytherins how she was and why she wasn't here.

He had promised her he was going to ask his mother if she could write to Ariana but he had his suspicions of what her answer was going to be.

"Stop daydreaming and get back to work!" the caretaker snapped Aberforth out of his reflections. "Youth today! You're all lazy kids who think they can solve everything with a flick of a wand!" Aberforth rolled his eyes and went to clean a trophy some ponce who wasn't his brother had won while the caretaker kept telling him how he was nothing, how youth today had no respect and had no idea how real work was like.

Aberforth tuned him out and went back to work. The last day, this was the last day.

Several dirty trophies later, Aberforth looked at the Quidditch shelf.

Aberforth paused and snickered.

If he got the spot in the team and Gryffindor won the cup this year, it would not be Albus' name that would be there but his.

That'd show him if he earned his place here.

* * *

The day of the try-outs, Albus came.

"I told you not to come!" Aberforth had shrieked but Albus had just smiled.

"What can I say?" he cheerfully told his little brother who was now glaring at him. "As a Gryffindor, I am naturally invested and need to know what the chances of Gryffindor winning the cup are." He raised a hand. "If however you do not want me to watch you flying, I understand and can leave the pitch when it is your turn if you so wish and come back afterwards. Also, I suppose I can skip the Quidditch matches if you get the spot or close my eyes whenever I see you."

"I'll throw the bludger to your face," he hissed as the Quidditch captain walked in their direction.

Her face lit up. "Dumbledore! Are you here for the try-outs as well?" She ignored his little brother, put her hand on his shoulder as she gave a soft smile. "I am sure you would be an excellent seeker."

"I am rather fond of Quidditch, but I admit I prefer enjoying the match from the stands," he amiably told her.

"Even beater, I am sure you would be amazing," she softly told Albus. "You are amazing at everything after all."

Somebody puffed. "Sorry," Harry said when he saw the three looking at him. "I just…" He snickered. "Just the mental image."

The witch somehow seemed put out and crossed her arms. "Potter, right? Which position are you seeking?"

"Seeker."

She looked at Harry's broom and scoffed. "Is that an Oakshaft 79? This is the worst broom for Quidditch. A seeker with an Oakshaft…" She shook her head and looked at the other Gryffindors on the pitch. "I suppose everybody is here. Alright," she shouted, "everybody not here for the try-outs go to the stands!"

She pointed in the direction of the numerous bats and bludgers Albus had seen her multiply a few minutes ago. "The ones for the beater position, get a bat each! Your goal is to hit as many seekers as you can! The one with the most hits is in the team. Those for the seeker position, you will have to survive the beaters and we're going to release the snitch after ten minutes. The first one to catch it gets the spot."

As expected, Aberforth hit four seekers in under ten minutes and sent the bludger in his direction thrice.

He was sure this was just an accident, he nodded to himself as he lowered the shield charm.

It became interesting when a Fourth Year screamed he had caught the snitch only to realize this was only a yellow golf ball once he was on the ground.

And an army of golden balls suddenly appeared and filled the pitch.

* * *

Harry loudly swore at the sight of the hundred golden golf balls freely flying all around the pitch.

Catch the snitch. More like seek the snitch.

"It you catch a golf ball and not the snitch," the Quidditch captain's voice resonated in the pitch. "You're out."

Harry grimaced and narrowly avoided a bludger a beater had sent in his direction.

This was hell. Twelve bludgers and hundreds of golf balls, and he was supposed to avoid the bludgers and seek the right snitch. And these golf balls looked so much like the real snitch, the only things differentiating them from one another being the various shades of gold and the not so exact size of the balls.

A player nearby cursed and threw away the now inanimate golf ball. "How are we supposed to know with one is the good one is we can't catch it?" he screamed.

It should be impossible, Harry couldn't help agreeing. It was like searching for a needle in a haystack or like-

His mind stopped and Harry couldn't help looking in the direction of the stands, dumbfounded.

Or like seeking the correct key among hundreds in a room under a trapdoor.

Harry hadn't finished his thought that three bludgers were coming closer. And if the younger Dumbledore hit one and changed its trajectory, Harry had to roll on his broom to avoid the other two.

That key had a bent wing, he remembered. And the ball lazily flying under his nose didn't have any.

They were not supposed to look for the golden ball, he suddenly realized. They had to look for the silver wings.

Harry cursed and flied higher to have a better view of the pitch. The broom protested, clearly not used to flying so high, but after a week spent trying to tame it, Harry could control it.

He had to look for the silver and ignore the gold and Harry couldn't stop a wince at how difficult this was going to be. He then flew down and started weaving through the whirl of false snitches, trying to ignore the urge to just catch the ones right in front of him.

Finally he spotted it. Near the stands with five others was a golden ball the size of a walnut in the middle of a suspicious silver glow.

Harry didn't even think and just dived, broom at its maximum speed.

"Yes!" he yelled when he grabbed the snitch right a couple inches away from Albus' face, the silver wings protruding between his fingers, struggling for release. Turning to the dumbfounded prefect, he grinned. "Thank you."

The wizard dazedly blinked. "Y-You're welcome, I suppose."

But Harry had already turned away and was flying to the ground. With a grin, he presented the snitch to the Quidditch captain. Seeing the lack of reaction, he asked, "I get the spot, right?"

The witch looked at him, then at the snitch, then at the broom. "You caught the snitch."

Harry, still high from his catch, laughed and enthusiastically nodded.

She raised her head where the numerous false snitches were still flying before checking her watch. "You actually caught the snitch."

Harry freed the snitch before catching it again. "I've got the spot, right?"

"Y-Yes. Yes, you do. Welcome to Gryffindor Quidditch Team." She then walked away muttering something under her breath that sounded an awful like 'but he's got an Oakshaft 79' and 'he actually did it'.

Honestly, it was as if she had never expected anybody to catch it.

* * *

"Some strange student comes here. He is good at magic, he beats Albus Dumbledore himself in a duel, he is a seer and now he is devilishly good at Quidditch?" a Gryffindor who got rejected for the seeker position mumbled as they left the Quidditch pitch to let the new team train. "What is it going to be next?"

"I don't want to know. Maybe he's going to beat Higgs and we'll get the Cup this year?"

He snorted. "As if. My sister used the dices to find out who was going to catch the snitch for the Slytherin-Gryffindor match this year. Do you know what the dices told her? One hundred. As in, you know, the youngest Quidditch player in a hundred year. We're going to lose."

"I thought you couldn't predict these kind of things."

"You can if they are certainties. So there. He is good, but not that good."

He was actually very good, Albus couldn't help thinking. When the man had explained how he had spotted the snitch, the other players had all looked at each other and even Albus had to admit he hadn't actually seen the snitch's wings even though it had been right under his nose.

And when he had flown in his direction and stopped inches away from his face only to smile at him as he showed him his prize…

"I suppose we should have seen that one coming. A seer must have good eyes, right?"

The boy behind Albus snorted. "If you had picked divination or if you were actually reading the newspaper, you would know how wrong you are."

A sigh. "What did you think of Dumbledore?"

A puff. "I get why they chose him. He did stop a few bludgers from hitting a few seekers while others kept attacking."

And in Quidditch, the beater also had to protect his own team, Albus mentally finished. It had never been said out loud but Aberforth had realized once he had been in the lead that it was more beneficial for him to stop the player in second place to score more points than to keep attacking. It had for this reason only been natural for him to get the position.

Albus sighed and looked in the direction of the pitch where seven figures were flying.

Harry and Aberforth seemed to have hit off after everybody had been on the ground, he couldn't help thinking.

Hopefully Aberforth wouldn't say anything too embarrassing about him.

When the two wizards came back two hours later and Harry started snickering in his direction, he knew that had been wishful thinking.

* * *

Harry liked Aberforth. He really did. Maybe he had a short temper but Harry had a temper too and he was straightforward in a way very few had been with him. Compared to Professor Dumbledore who hadn't even bothered telling him he was going to get stuck in the past, it was a welcome change.

But sometimes he could be really annoying. Like that time he had puffed at him and asked if he needed help for naming his butterfly.

"What are you reading?" Aberforth asked him one day as he unceremoniously took the book from his hands. "Occlumency?" he said after reading a page. "That's rubbish," he finally said as he threw it behind him. "You wanna learn occlumency? No book is gonna help. You need a teacher."

Harry grimaced. "I… I had a teacher, I suppose. Hated my guts, but he did teach me. It's just…" He grimaced, not knowing what else to say.

If somebody were to use legimency on him, he knew that person would find out he was a time traveller in a second. A glimpse at the twentieth century muggle world would be as good as a confession and even the wizarding world and the people he knew would show he was from the future.

"You want a better one," Aberforth finished. "Luckily for you, I know one."

He sighed. "I don't want to bother your brother and-"

"Who said anything about Albus?"

Harry blinked. "I just… w-who then?"

The Third Year pointed at himself. "And I'm better at occlumency than he is." He paused a second. "Probably because there's less on my mind to clear."

"Y-You? An occlumens?"

"Surprised, eh?"

Harry spluttered. "It's just that… Your brother taught you occlumency?"

Aberforth horrifyingly looked at him. "I'd rather die than let him teach me anything. Nah, it's mum. Taught us both occlumency when we were kids."

Harry paused. "Your mum."

It supposed that made sense for Dumbledore to actually have a mother, Harry distantly thought. Even a father, it wasn't that strange. Like him being young, really.

Next he'd learn he had a sex life if Harry wasn't careful.

"It's just…" He shook his head and tried to chase the disturbing images his mind had just conjured. "I'm not comfortable with… somebody using legimency on me and-"

"Who said anything about legimency?" Aberforth interrupted.

Harry stared. "Isn't that how you learn occlumency? The teacher uses legimency on you, finds your deepest secrets and taunts you when you cannot protect yourself and he sees your cousin beating you?"

The other boy stared. "That's some horrible teacher you've had," he stated and Harry sighed at the understatement. "And even if that's how it works, I don't know legimency. Nah, mum taught us how to clear our mind. Took me five minutes. Took Albus a month."

"And… that's it?"

"Nah, but I'm not gonna teach you for free." He intently looked at him. "Everybody says you're good at Defence," he slowly began and Harry shrugged. "So, you do my homework in Defence and teach me _real_ spells, and I help you with occlumency."

"Deal."

Aberforth suddenly handed him his essay on the table. "For tomorrow morning."

For some reason, he had the distinct feeling he's just been had.

* * *

After the younger Dumbledore had started training him in occlumency and shared with him his wisdom which literally was 'Do not think of the polar bear', Harry finally managed to get some semblance of occlumency level when he realized that trying not to think about something was literally the best way to think about it. So he was just focusing on Quidditch and whatever homework the teachers were throwing at him for the time being and trying not to accidentally talk about wizards who weren't to be born before eighty years in his essays.

It was strange sometimes to think of how outdated some potion facts were or that nobody was ever going to ask him about the twelve uses of dragon blood.

And before Harry noticed, September had gone and it was almost Halloween.

"All Hallows' Eve," Professor Mesmer began. "The most sacred day when the veil between life and death is at his thinnest. Normally, I would teach my non-existent NEWT students the noble art of communicating with the dead to learn the future-" Seeing Black's eyes widening, he hurried, "Not a word, Mister Black. Not a word. This year however, it is not without some pride than I can tell you I have managed to invite the divination guild here at Hogwarts."

Elphias frowned. "The-?"

"Divination guild. A group of the greatest divination practitioners and whose noble goal is to use our gifts for the betterment of our world." He took a pause. "Mostly, we just play cards. I have also invited a very imminent seer and can assure you this will be very educational for all of you to see us at work." He looked at them and smirked. "This is why, for all my students who have picked divination, your presence tomorrow afternoon is mandatory. Is there anything wrong, Mister Potter?" he asked him when he saw Harry's face.

Harry shook his head. "It's just…" For a moment, he considered telling him something stupid such as Halloweens being cursed and ultimately dropped it.

"It's just you and All Hallows' Eve have a very strong relationship." Mesmer knowingly nodded. "This is rather common to these souls born on this day. But, as you are I have no doubt intent on controlling your third eye and becoming a powerful seer, this is more reason for you to understand why this day has such a strong hold on you so I hope you will pay extra attention tomorrow."

Harry stared at him. "Sure," he just said.

Mesmer smirked. "We're going to have so much fun, I can See it."

* * *

"How did you do it, sir?" Black breathed when on Halloween he and Harry saw the ten men and women in colourful clothes that would make Professor Dumbledore look like a boring accountant. "No really, how did Father ever accept this?"

Professor Mesmer lowly chuckled. "Talent, Mister Black. Pure talent. Now, we're going to do everything we can to not remind him of what I've done. I'm the only one who managed to survive the salary cuts last year and I want to keep it that way. What time is it, Mister Black?" Once Phineas had checked his watch and answered his question, he sighed. "They're late."

"You mean there's more of them coming."

He nodded. "Two. I more or less expected that of her but him..." He shook his head. "I know he's going to come but when… That's the thing, you see," he told Black. "About seers, we are terrible when it comes to tell the time."

The door to the room Professor Mesmer had picked for his Halloween party suddenly opened and a woman in a white dress and a deep blue scarf covering half her face suddenly appeared.

"Don't tell me-"

"Oh God…"

"Is that-"

"Yes, that's definitely her," Professor Mesmer whispered as he left their side to come in the middle of the room. "Ladies and gentleman," he began, "she has travelled all thorough Europe, she has foretold the last decade's most important events, the most prominent royal families in Europe wants the honour to even see her and today we are granted the honour of her coming here, in our school."

The woman turned her head Harry heard a few muffled gasps.

"Did you see her eyes?" somebody whispered.

Mesmer chose to ignore the interruption. "And even though she cannot see, she has so kindly agreed to open her Third Eye and reveal our future. I present you, our century's greatest Seer, the great Cassandra Trelawney!"

When she finally turned to him, Harry saw her eyes were a milky white.

Cassandra Trelawney suddenly let out a horrified scream and fainted.

"Alright," Mesmer slowly said as a few students ran to stop her fall. "I admit I didn't see that coming."


	15. We're all mad here

_A/N: A little spoiler warning for a tiny COG reference near the end of the chapter. It is not a very big one (we're fifty years before the movie after all), it is just some trivia for the worldbuilding and you will not be very spoiled if you have yet to see the movie but I'd rather err on the side of caution and warn you than accidentally ruin your fun because of that._

* * *

"Trelawney? Trelawney, it's me, it's Mesmer. Trelawney, wake up. Wake up, you blind owl."

The witch lying on the sofa opened her milky eyes. "Mesmer? Wh-What happened?"

"You fainted," the Divination Professor said with a sigh. "My fault, I know. And I'm sorry. I should have known better. Are you alright?"

The witch slowly sat up and raised a hand over her head. "Oh Mesmer," she lamented, "it was so horrible. What I've _seen_ … I think… Yes, it has to be… I must have seen The End."

The group of people a few feet away looked each other. "The end of what?" Elphias Doge asked.

"The End. The end of time, the end of everything," she bemoaned and dramatically fell back on the sofa while the students started shaking in fear. "The pain, the despair… the Darkness… And that _being._ He was the most terrible thing really. A monster with red eyes… A man who tricked the Devil himself, now unable to go to neither Heaven nor Hell… Trapped in a farce of life… Neither dead nor alive… Jack O'Lantern is here tonight!"

Mesmer slowly massaged his temples while the rest of the room gasped. Slowly, he said, "Well, at least you're in the theme of the party, I have to give you that."

Trelawney closed her eyes and left out another little moan of pain.

Mesmer rolled his eyes and turned to the rest of the room. "She'll be fine," he reassured them. "Give her ten minutes and she'll be back to seeing your doom. It is however terrible manner to look at a lady the way you currently are. So…"

The students mumbled but ultimately walked away from Cassandra Trelawney whispering, "You'll really let me tell them their end?"

"Cassandra Trelawney," Elphias Doge relevantly whispered. " _The_ Cassandra Trelawney here, at Hogwarts. I knew Professor had to know other seers and that he must have a lot of influence but never would I have thought... Can you imagine our luck?" he asked Harry who couldn't stop a snort.

The veil had fallen when she fainted and Harry had finally been able to see the family resemblance between this woman and Professor Trelawney. Considering how she seemed to act like her great-great-granddaughter, he didn't have to.

"I am sure Albus will regret not choosing Divination once I tell him who came," Elphias continued. "This is a… a once in a lifetime opportunity! Who knows?" he suddenly exclaimed. "Maybe she'll even make a prophecy! Can you imagine? The great Trelawney making a prophecy right under your eyes?

Harry snorted.

"I should prepare my questions for her," he finished as he retrieved a pencil and some parchment.

"You do that," Harry told him as he looked around the room.

Now that the scene was over, the students were back to talking to the members of the Divination guild or outright making a line to some members who apparently had taken their own crystal ball or tarot cards so that one of them would be kind enough to reveal their future.

Sometimes, their eyes would turn to Trelawney whose scarf was back to covering her face, but eventually they stopped, so engrossed they now were in their conversation.

Cassandra Trelawney was talking to Professor Mesmer whose face was unusually grave and Harry discreetly tried to walk closer to hear whatever they were saying.

Unfortunately, it seemed one of them had casted a charm to stop anybody from overhearing them.

Harry sighed and looked around the room in hope to find a good place to hide until the end of the party. Not seeing any obvious one, he then tried to find somebody sane.

When he finally spotted one, Harry couldn't stop a a chuckle.

"A wizard from such an esteemed family," a man with a hot pink turban told Black who was slowly massaging his temples, "considering your roots, there is little doubt that it is on astrology you should focus all your efforts. A Black, the son of Professor Black furthermore, you are without a doubt a member of the Order of Asteria so it is only natural for you to take this path."

"The Order of what?" Harry couldn't help asking.

The turbaned man turned to him. "You have never heard of the Order of Astoria?" he exclaimed. "I didn't even believe this was possible! The Order of Astoria is –after the Divination Guild naturally- the most influential organisation in the country. The warlocks of the Order of Astoria are known to control our world in the shadows."

"It's only a religious group," Black turned away from the older man and told Harry. Rolling his eyes, he explained, "One which believes the stars are watching over the people on Earth."

The man knowingly nodded. "The Black family has always been known for his strong connections with the Order of Asteria. Why, I think they name many of their children after stars because they are true believers."

"Yes, yes," he impatiently replied as he grabbed Harry by the shoulder. "Now, if you would excuse us-"

And Black and Harry fled.

"I thought it would only be entertaining," he hissed, "but Mesmer has thrown me to the wolves. This is the fifth one telling me I need to study Astrology and three have tried to use legimency on me."

Harry startled. "What?"

"I asked Mesmer earlier, apparently that's standard procedure. Something about they protecting themselves. And seers being by nature very curious creatures."

Slowly, Harry turned his head and looked at the members of the Guild.

Most of them were looking at him not without some curiosity.

Harry thought he was going to cry. "How do we avoid them?"

"I've been asking myself the same question. I suppose," he started musing, "that we can't. All we can hope for is to find the least worst person to converse with so that the others do not have the opportunity to incommode us."

Harry mentally eliminated three quarters of the Guild. "What about Professor Mesmer?"

"In case you haven't noticed, Potter, Mesmer is the worst of them." Glancing at the man looking at the door, a troubled look on his face he shrugged. "Also, I think he has a lot in his mind. No, we need somebody else."

The two pondered a few seconds. Suddenly, Harry thought about something.

"You need eyecontact for legimency, right?"

"Not necessarily but here? Yes. They'd need eyecontact or everybody else would know what is happening."

"Does that mean a blind woman cannot use legimency then?"

Black took a pause. "I..." He looked troubled. "I've never really thought about it but I suppose you're right."

"I suppose we don't really have a choice there," he murmured as they walked in the direction of the woman who was now leaving the couch. Raising his voice, he asked the witch, "Would you want one of us to help you, ma'am?"

Cassandra Trelawney took a few tentative steps. "This is very kind of you. But I do not require your help, for the Higher Being is guiding me and my Third Eye is showing me where I am supposed to go and what I need to do."

That being said, she walked away.

Only to be stopped by the table in front of her.

The two wizards looked at each other. "But Prof- I mean, ma'am," Harry tried, "what if…" Suddenly remembering Professor Trelawney, inspiration struck. "What if we were sent by the Higher Being to help you?"

"Nice," Black murmured as the woman now seemed deep in thought, "that may just work."

"You are right," she said. "I can See it now. I See we were all fated to meet, today, and that the Higher Being sent you to me so that I could help you in your journey."

Harry bit a remark. "Naturally."

"Please forgive my curiosity, ma'am. I was wondering… An esteemed seer such as you is most certainly very busy predicting the future of very proeminent and powerful families. I would have thought you wouldn't have time to come to a school such as Hogwarts."

"That is normally true. However, as I said, the Higher Being is guiding me," she mysteriously told the Slytherin. "And if the Higher Being needs me to be here, then I have the duty to go where I am needed, regardless of what I may have previously planned."

"The Higher Being told you to come to Hogwarts?" he asked not without a note of disbelief.

"The Higher Being didn't tell _me_ exactly, but yes. I have to say, you are very blessed to have a seer such as Mesmer to guide you in your journey toward enlightement. And I am very thankful that he has informed me of the vision he's had of me coming here tonight for I had no idea before his letter that I was supposed to come."

At these words Black painfully closed his eyes. "Mesmer told you he's had a vision of you coming to Hogwarts."

She nodded. "He said it was very important."

Harry grimaced. "And what… What are you supposed to do now that you're here? Like… are you supposed to give us a lecture, or- or..."

"That I do not know yet," she dreamily told them. "I do not know for the Higher Being has yet to explain why I was sent here."

"I'll ask the Higher Being," Black muttered as he left them and walked in the direction of Professor Mesmer who seemed to be still looking at the door.

"Could it be you are a Seer too?" Cassandra Trelawney asked the empty space where Black used to be. "My poor boy!" she exclaimed. She then blinked and tilted her head. "Why, yes, yes… I can See it now. I can See you talking to a large audience and proving yourself to be the superior seer. It's just a pity you die but such is the fate of beings like us."

Harry didn't know if he should laugh or cry.

"What about you?" Trelawney turned in his direction. "Lost souls like yours… Did the Higher Being send you too? It is clear than Ananke has marked you, but-" she frowned "-it is not clear why." She paused for a moment and, before Harry could say anything, she continued, "Forgive me for asking, but there's-" Trelawney looked troubled. "There is something I've heard. It seems to be important, so very important, but I cannot understand why."

Harry shrugged. "What is it?"

"Who is Sybill?"

* * *

"You're late," Mesmer accused when he spotted a blonde man wearing a black cape with red lining entering the room. "You were supposed to be on time, Time Keeper!"

"I got lost," he told him. "I left the group to see the castle and didn't know where I was supposed to go. Is it me or there's a room without a roof?"

"Oh, you mean the Great Hall? No, no, this sky is not real. The roof was just charmed somewhere in the fifteen century so that the new students wouldn't have to be sorted outside. Still, it's always interesting to try applying astrology on it."

The man frowned. "So then, how high is the ceiling?"

"I'm not… I'm not really sure, now that you mention it."

"And not one of you has ever tried to touch the stars," he stated.

"I've never really thought about it, to be honest." Mesmer shook his head. "How's London?"

"Oh, everything is fine. I was planning to do something for tonight but I'm rather glad I cancelled my plans and came here." He smiled. "Thank you, really. Thank you. For your invitation."

Mesmer looked away and embarrassingly waved his hand. "Oh don't get any idea. I only did it to annoy Professor Black."

The man's green eyes sparkled. "Naturally. You had no other reason for doing this at all."

The Divination Professor gave a small smile. "I may have had one or two," he admitted. "I'll explain later and-" Seeing Phineas Black coming, he shook his head. "Sorry, the show must go on." They both laughed. "Is there a problem, Mister Black?" he asked the Fifth Year once he had stopped chuckling.

The Slytherin blankly looked at him. "Madam Trelawney wishes to know what else your Third Eye has seen. She is wondering what the… ah… what the 'Great Being' needs her to do now that she has come here."

"Ah yes. Well..." he seemed to be deep in thoughts. "There's the room nearby with a crystal ball and a tarot deck. I am sure Trelawney will enjoy predicting everybody's doom there."

"Are you trying to apologize for something here?" The man asked and seer grimaced. "Because if you are, I have to say I've seen better."

"Well, I still haven't forgiven her for that time she proposed to pierce my eyes in order to 'help me' with my Sight," he fought back. "Mister Black, if you would please show Trelawney the Green Room and help her with the decoration I have no doubt she will ask for, I would be much obliged. Sorry," he regretfully said once the wizard was gone, "but I need to make sure the others behave."

The green-eyed man shrugged. "Sure. Just asking, what am I supposed to do now that I'm here?"

He shrugged. "Oh, just enjoy the party. You're the guest tonight. Try to confuse a couple students of mine if you want but-"

He suddenly stopped and stared at the green-eyed.

"Actually," he slowly said, "why don't you use your 'magic' on a new student of mine, Evans? I'm sure he's going to love it."

* * *

Not for the first time in his life, Aberforth was wondering if he shouldn't have listened to his brother.

When he had picked Divination and Care of Magical Creatures, he had done it out of spite. Care of Magical Creatures, he had suspected he would be good at it. Besides, the creatures he was going to study couldn't be worse than his goat Grumble.

Divination however? He had picked it because the teacher had called Albus 'the stupid Dumbledore' and he 'the clever one' when he had been a First Year and he had known Albus was bound to _hate_ _it_.

But if the lessons were mostly entertaining, he was now wondering what mess he had just gotten himself into.

"I See… I See… I See…" Cassandra Trelawney mysteriously said and Aberforth couldn't help rolling his eyes. That was the last time he would follow Caradoc's lead. "No, I suppose they are too young to be called this so… I See you with kids."

Aberforth blankly looked at Trelawney. "Me. With kids." He couldn't stop a snort at the thought.

But the woman nodded. "I See you working with kids by your side. I suppose this is only natural for them to follow your lead considering what you are."

"And what am I?"

But the woman didn't answer his question. "I also see a lot of pain in your future. A lot of pain, and despair, I'm afraid. B-But… I think I'm Seeing something, or someone. It's-" She frowned. "-it's quite blurry, I confess so I'm not really sure. I see a chicken. No it's not a chicken, it's a rooster." She paused. "What am I saying?" she said as she shook her head. "It's not a rooster, it _cannot_ be a rooster. _Of course_ it cannot be a rooster. It has never _been_ a rootser, hasn't it? This is a phoenix I'm Seeing."

Aberforth paused at that. "A phoenix."

He knew the Dumbledores have always had strong ties with phoenixes and he remembered the stories his father would tell his children about their great-great-grandfather's. A phoenix would always come to a Dumbledore in need, he used to say.

But no phoenix had come when his sister had been attacked and when his father had to be sent to Azkaban so Aberforth really didn't give a damn about these flaming chickens.

"A phoenix," she confirmed. "There will be a phoenix and this phoenix will protect you and never leave you, no matter what."

Aberforth blinked and considered the statement for a moment.

His lips then stretched into a humourless smile. A Dumbledore working with kids and with a phoenix…

"You're confusing me with my brother too, aren't you?"

Trelawney blinked and, not unlike an owl, titled her head. "Now, what makes you say that?"

"Oh, nothing," he said as he got up. "Just a feeling I've got."

Even _blind people_ were now confusing him with his brother. That really was a new low, he couldn't help thinking as he walked to the door.

"Goodbye."

But before he could open the door, Aberforth heard something falling.

"THE END IS ONLY THE BEGINNING…" a inhumanly deep voice loudly said behind him and Aberforth's blood froze. "EVERYTHING ENDS BEFORE IT EVEN BEGINS..."

The hand stopped reaching for the doorknob.

Aberforth slowly turned. "Wh-What?" He couldn't stop a shiver as he turned back. "S-Sorry… What?" he weakly asked the witch.

But Cassandra Trelawney didn't seem to hear him. Her white eyes started to roll as if she was about to have some sort of seizure. Before the boy could scream for help she spoke again, in that harsh voice, very unlike the soft one she had been using before.

"A BROKEN HOME… UNFORTUNATE SOULS LOST IN DESPAIR… AN INNOCENT SCREAMING FOR HELP… WITH SILVER BLOOD AND GOLDEN WINGS THE GREAT ADVENTURER SHALL BRING THEM HOME..."

"Oi," Aberforth weakly tried. "A-Are you-"

Trelawney suddenly shook her head and the Gryffindor startled. "Oh, sorry," she had the gall to say, her voice back to normal. "It looks like I'm still a little dozy from earlier."

"Wh-What was that just-"

"Would you be nice enough to ask your friends to wait a minute when you leave? I think I need to rest a moment."

Aberthforth stared at her.

"H-Hold on, wh-what did you just say?"

"I said I needed to rest and-"

"No, no… Before."

She tilted her head. "The part about you and your brother? Why do you think I am confusing you with him? Are you sure you are not the one being confused, young man?"

Aberforth gapped.

Very, _very_ slowly, he opened the door and left the room without losing eyecontact with the seer. Not bothering to look at the rest of the file, he passed the message. A few voices weakly protested but he ignored them. That being done, he slowly went to find a quiet place and lent on the wall where he took a few deep breaths.

"Well..." he finally said. "Shit."


	16. Prophecy and Ghost

Albus gave a long look at the two Gryffindors in front of him.

"Alright then, I suppose I have to ask. What on earth happened to you two?" he asked at the sight of their haggard face. "Did something happen during your little party?"

Harry and Aberforth blankly looked at him.

"That bad?"

"You have no idea."

* * *

When Harry had seen the blonde man wearing what Harry had recognized from watching a few TV programs muggle clothes from this era over what looked like a magician-like cape with red lining, he hadn't thought much of it at the beginning.

 _And yet_ , after a few minutes, he hadn't helped watching the golden fob watch the man standing next to him had retrieved from a pocket.

"Sorry sir, what time is it?" he hadn't been able to help asking.

The man had then closed the watch. "Depends. Time is a very relative concept so when you want to measure time you need to set a referential beforehand. What time is it in Hogwarts, what time is it in London, what time is it in Paris, what time it is in New York… At the exact same instant the answer will considerably vary."

Harry had then fought the urge to face-palm. "What time is it here then?"

"Nine twelve. But the answer you probably want is nine seventeen." Harry had blankly looked at him and the man had shrugged. "I did say you need to set a referential. So, even though it _is_ nine twelve here, it is the time at Greenwich you probably want to know."

And Harry to that had just said, "Ah."

The blonde man's lips had then curled. "My father was a clockmaker," he had begun explaining as he was pocketing his watch, "and to charm his clocks, he had to be near the Royal Observatory. I've always found it funny," he had wistfully commented. "So be careful with that kind of things or you'd skip a day if you attempt to travel the world because of some bet."

"Are you... Are you actually referring to _Around the World in Eighty Days_?" he had incredulously asked

The man had snapped his fingers. "Exactly. Fogg should have had _two_ clocks on him and he got very lucky he noticed his mistake before it was too late. So, if you ever buy a wizarding watch never forget what I've just told you and ask him where he's charmed it." He had then smiled and extended his hand. "Patrick Evans."

And Harry not knowing the mess he was about to get himself into had taken the hand and shaken it. "Harry Potter."

"Like Mesmer's new student? I have to say, it is not every day he gets surprised and has a new student suddenly appearing without him knowing. It must have been a very spur of the moment decision for you to startle him like that. Gifts like theirs, it takes either that or quite a lot of skills to fool their Third Eye."

Harry had blinked at that. "You're… You're talking as if you don't have it."

"I don't. I don't have… ah, let's just say I do not have their talent, or yours. Still, I have some... _skills_ the guild rather likes." He had shrugged and then smiled. "Would you like me to show you?"

Looking back, Harry didn't know why he had accepted, nor why he had even tried to make conversation. For some reason, he had felt at ease in the middle of all this madness.

"You're not from here. You're a traveller, correct?"

"… Yes."

"So, where were you before coming to Hogwarts? No, don't tell me." He had raised a hand as Harry had started tensing. "I think I can find out myself."

Harry had helplessly tried to find a way out but finding none had decided to occlude his mind the best he could and shrugged.

"Because, you see," the man had begun, voice slightly deeper than before, "I've travelled quite a lot myself so it shouldn't be very hard. I've travelled all thorough our dear United Kingdom, Austria, France, Russia… I even went to New York not so long ago. Even our dear colonies, I've been here. And let me tell you, the weather was absolutely dreadful."

At that Harry had rolled his eyes. At least the man wasn't using legimency, he had thought. He might not be very good at occlumency, he knew that much.

"But you… You, I see you in none of those places. Oh, you've travelled," he had said before Harry could interrupt. "I have no doubt you've travelled, I can see- sorry, I can See that much. And I can see… I can see… I can see you have not been in the continent, nor have you been in America, Africa or even Asia or Oceania. I am sure that many of your classmates have asked you and none of them has so far figured it out. And it annoys you as much as you must privately find it very funny what they can imagine about you."

Harry's lips twitched.

"Who knows? Next thing, one of them will probably ask you if you're not from Mars."

Harry had burst to laugh and the man had lowly chuckled.

"What? It _could_ be possible, I suppose. Still, we both know you're from our good old little world."

"Yes," he had confirmed between two snickers. "I'm not a Martian. I'm from Earth. Human too," he had added for good measure.

"Yes, I can clearly see that. But there will come a point when their guesses are going to be more and more ludicrous. That's human nature. And no matter what, they will always keep trying to find the secret. But how can _anybody_ figure out where you're from? After all-"

The man's emerald eyes had then shined in amusement and, finally, he had smirked.

" _You didn't travel through space, did you?"_

* * *

Harry shakily hid his face behind his hands.

The man had then laughed at him and with a wink had told him it was time for him to do his job and tell the guild it was time to leave or they'd miss their portkey and thank you Mesmer for the invitation, I can see why you love this place. The audience here was absolutely delightful.

Professor Mesmer had then chuckled and later said as Harry was about to leave that he shouldn't worry too much. He's known Evans ever since they were children and, with a profession like his, he made a point in _never_ revealing any secret. So he could be sure that, whatever he's discovered about him, he wouldn't tell anybody.

What was wrong with these people? You couldn't just throw a bomb like that and just leave! That wasn't allowed!

"Cassandra Trelawney was here," he heard Aberforth telling his brother.

Albus hummed, "What she? Considering how sought she is, one would think she wouldn't find the time to come to our school."

"Well, she did. It was very…"

"Dramatic," Harry helpfully added.

"Y-Yeah." He pointed in Harry's direction. "That." After a moment of hesitation, he said, "She took some of us in a room one by one to tell us our future."

Albus raised an eyebrow. "That was tremendously kind of her. I suppose…" His lips curled. "I suppose that explains a few things about the others." Seeing Aberforth biting his lower lip, he sighed. "What did she tell you about your future?"

"It's not what she told me really." He grimaced. "It's… It's what happened _afterward_. I think… I think she made a prophecy when I was alone with her."

Harry sharply raised his head. "She what?"

But Albus just raised an eyebrow. "She made a prophecy when you were alone with her," he repeated.

"Yes!" He ran a hand through his auburn hair and grimaced. "Like, I had my hand on the doorknob and suddenly there was that strange voice and-and she…" He shuddered. "I asked her what on earth she was doing but afterward she acted as if nothing happened and-"

He stopped when he saw his brother's lips twitching.

"My poor Aberforth," Albus said not without a hint of amusement in his voice, "you must have been rather shaken up for you to behave the way you currently are."

Aberforth blinked a few times. Finally, he growled, "This is serious, Albus!"

"Of course, of course," he indulged him. "My most sincere apologies, Aberforth." His lips twitched again. "Well then, what does that so-called prophecy she made when you were alone with her say?"

"As if I'm going to tell you!" he thundered before angrily heading to the dorms.

Albus sighed. "I probably could have handled it better," he admitted. "Now then, what about y-"

"Sorry," Harry said as walked past him and went after the younger Dumbledore, "I have to go."

Albus looked at the empty Common Room.

"I was only trying to be nice," he whispered as he headed to bed with a sigh.

When Harry faced the door leading to the Third Year boys' dormitories, he didn't bother knocking.

"Leave me alone, Albus!" Aberforth's voice shouted when Harry opened the door.

It was then followed by several angry voices, clearly displeased at being woken up this way.

"Sorry," Aberforth mumbled. Finally noticing it wasn't his brother, he suspiciously looked at Harry. "What do you want now?"

"What did she tell you?" Aberforth tensed and opened his mouth as if to shout again.

But looking at Harry's grave face, he changed his mind. "Is Albus still down there?"

Harry looked at the Common Room and shook his head. Aberforth sighed and left the Third Years' dorms. "At least you're not laughing at me," he mumbled as they headed back to the Common Room.

"Believe me, there is nothing funny when it comes to prophecies."

* * *

"The end is only the beginning," Harry slowly repeated the prophecy's first words. "Everything ends before it even begins. That- That doesn't make any sense!"

Aberforth angrily ran a hand through his hair. "I know, but that's what she said. And, frankly, I'm more worried about what she said _after that_."

Harry grimaced at that.

A broken home, unfortunate souls lost in despair, an innocent screaming for help... No matter how he was looking at it, that prophecy felt ominious.

"I don't know what to say," he confessed. "That was definitely a prophecy, but this was is rather… well, it's very vague."

The one Professor Trelawney had given in Third Year had been very straightforward. It had even said it would happen that very night. It had been very precise, all things considered. It had talked about 'the Dark Lord' and his servant when all Cassandra Trelawney's prophecy was talking about was at best some 'great adventurer', whatever that was supposed to mean.

"Do you… Do you have any idea what it could be about?" Harry tried while Aberforth startled. "The one Prof- my former teacher gave me was in some way related to me," he explained, "and she _did_ make the prophecy in front of you. So, _maybe_ -"

The Third Year crossed his arms. "Not really." He started musing, "maybe the part about…" He stilled and shook his head. "No, that can't be it," he nervously chuckled. "N-no idea."

But Aberforth began biting his fingernail. "A-Anyway, maybe…" He gritted his teeth and didn't say anything else.

Harry sighed. "I know it's creepy," he told Aberforth who startled. "Believe me, I know. I've been there. B-But…"

Remembering the one Professor Trelawney had made in front of him and how it ended, he grimaced.

"It says some great adventurer will bring these people home, right?" he tried, purposefully ignoring the part about silver blood and golden wings. "So it's not completely bad."

"I suppose," Aberforth reluctantly acknowledged.

"And we don't know how prophecies work," he added. "The one I've heard was pretty straightforward but this one? I think we shouldn't jump to conclusions for now."

The auburn-haired gave a long sigh. "Maybe. And also, Trelawney literally confused me with Albus so it's most certainly dragon dung anyway."

Harry frowned. "Does she even know him?"

He replied with a shrug. "She said I'd work with kids and a phoenix would watch over me so I know she was really talking about him." Harry's eyes widened but Aberforth didn't notice it.

"She… She must have thought it was him and wanted to sell him on divination." The younger wizard nodded to himself. "And-And she faked making a prophecy because I wasn't buying her act." He nervously chuckled. "I usually hate it but I think I can let that one slide. I admit she freaked me out b-but…"

He looked away and heavily sighed. "I don't know what to think," he finally confessed. "I don't know if it concerns me or not, and I don't know if I want it to or not."

* * *

Now that October was gone, the first thing in anybody's mind was naturally the beginning of the Quidditch season in a few days. As always, the first match was going to be Gryffindor vs Slytherin and, as always, it was the one that interested Hogwart's students the most if only because of the infamous rivalry between the two houses.

The current rumour mill was saying that the new student would somehow manage to catch the snitch, defeat Higgs and lead Gryffindor team to victory. So far this prediction was the least unlikely, in Albus' honest opinion.

From watching the team training under the pretence he was here to encourage his brother, Albus could reliably say the team was good. Would the team be good enough to finally defeat Slytherin now, he supposed they would know soon enough as the match was to be played this Saturday.

Albus sighed and entered the classroom.

Harry glanced at him and sighed.

"You _really_ should stop spending so much time in the library," he informed him as Albus sat next to him. "I know you mean well but, believe me, that's not healthy."

Albus gave him a smile, attempting not to show his slight annoyance. "Are you speaking from experience per any chance?"

"Yes. Well," he amended, "I rarely go to the library but I've got this friend, Hermione. She's so often in the library Ron and I often have to drag her out of it."

Albus couldn't help raising his eyebrows at how informally the new student was referring to his friends. "Ron and Hermione."

While it was true he himself was on first name basis with his friends and they with him, he knew most of them, save Elphias, could be uncomfortable with such familiarity. Albus didn't quite understand as he was firmly convinced this was the best way one had to connect with somebody.

Alas, in Queen Victoria's England, this wasn't just _done_. So Albus with his friends were often seen as some rude and impolite wizards when all Albus was trying to do was to change the mentalities on the subject.

But for the new student who so far had made a point in _not_ using any name to refer to him…

"You and your friends must be very close," he carefully remarked.

Harry gave him a fond smile. "That we are."

Before the wizard could say more, the witch in front of them gasped and they both turned their head, trying to see what had startled her.

He then stilled.

For several minutes, Albus stared at the scene in front of him, unable to comprehend what was happening as Harry began taking his quill with a sigh.

What was going on? What happened? _How_?

A ball of parchment fell on his table. Quickly followed by another he numbly looked at for a few second before taking it.

 _Tell him_ , the first note said. _You're prefect, you tell him_ , said the second one.

The one that hit his forehead was from Virginia Selwyn: _I will not say anything, nobody will. It has to be you_.

Albus sighed and discreetly banished the notes. Finally after a few deep breaths, he hesitantly raised his hand.

The Professor stopped his lecture and looked at his hand with some kind of amazement. "Mister –er-?"

"Dumbledore, Professor. I was just" –he grimaced- "I just wanted to point something out. You… may have forgotten something."

His professor scoffed. "I most certainly did not, Mister Darlington. What do you think I've forgotten, exactly?"

"You forgot your body, I'm afraid." Professor Binns slowly blinked and Albus deeply inhaled. "Y-You're a ghost, sir."

Binns slowly raised his arm. "So I am," he said at the sight of his now translucent hand. "I'm a ghost."

Albus tried to find something, _anything_ to say to the now dead man but what could one say to this? "You have my most sincere condolences, sir."

Binns lowered his ghostly hand. "I see." A couple of seconds passed. "Now, where were we?"

Albus startled. "W-Well…" He looked at the blank parchment on his table and nervously chuckled. "I have to admit that I did not-"

Harry began reading his notes, unperturbed. "Ragnok's attempt to murder Greyson Ollivander failed and Aurors' investigations revealed the goblins were intending to make a coup."

"Ah yes. Ragnok the Fool confessed the attempted crime and taunted the goblins would free him and make him king. Naturally-"

And under the rest of the class incredulous eyes –minus Harry who was dutifully writing what the ghost was saying- class resumed as if nothing was wrong.

* * *

"I do not see any problem," Phineas Nigellus Black cruelly remarked.

The professors around the table uncomfortably looked at each other. "Headmaster, Binns is _dead_."

"I can see that," he replied, pointing at the translucent professor floating above the chair he used to sit on and where Merrythought had the misfortune to find the body a few hours ago. "Admittedly, he has never been very lively to begin with but he looks even paler than usual. Still, as I said, I do not see any problem."

"But-"

"Did Binns miss class?" The teachers on the table frowned. "He didn't, did he? Now, it would be a different matter if Binns here was unable to teach but it is clear after this morning that he is still able to continue his lessons. As such, there is no need to find a replacement."

Merrythought, who was still a green-horn when it came to dealing with the Headmaster, shook her head. "With respect, Headmaster, Binns is _dead_."

He raised an eyebrow. "So?"

"So?" she spluttered. "Shouldn't we- Shouldn't we- D-Doesn't he deserve to- He's _dead_! He shouldn't teach!"

Hogwarts Headmaster sighed.

"Binns here, like all of you may I remind you, has signed a permanent contract to teach at Hogwarts. Only expulsion, his inability to teach or his own demission can terminate it."

"Yes but-"

" _Nowhere is it written that death allows you to neglect your duties to Hogwarts_."

The people in the room all froze.

" _Meaning_ , and it should go without saying, that Binns is still legally obliged to teach History of Magic and that we cannot actually fire him for this motive as he _clearly_ is still able to teach. Besides, should any of you fail to fulfil your duties to do so, it is perfectly within Hogwarts' rights to demand compensation."

"Can you sue a dead man?" O'Connor asked Dippet in a whisper.

Dippet helplessly shrugged.

"Now, Binns here can quit at the end of this school year," Phineas Nigellus Black conceded, "but he still is under the obligation to stay and teach History of magic until July and notify us early enough for Hogwarts to seek a replacement." Finally turning to the ghost, he spoke, "You told me not so long ago that you didn't think a life would be enough to study the complex subject that is goblin rebellions."

"Binns," O'Connor hissed. "Don't-"

"I did," the new ghost confirmed.

"I have to hand it to you, you were correct. But if a life isn't enough, maybe a death can be. Goblin rebellions may not be the work of a lifetime, it can be the work of a deathtime if you so wish."

And under his colleagues' horrified eyes, Binns agreed and decided with a small smile that he could not think of a better death for him. In fact, he found death to be quite freeing as he was no longer bound by the limitations of his body and it would be a pleasure to pursue his work at Hogwarts and _thank you_ for this amazing opportunity, Headmaster. You really are the greatest Headmaster Hogwarts has ever had.

Professor Black coughed and waved his hand. "If that's what makes you happy. Personally I'd- I suppose one man's hell can be another's heaven," he started musing. "Nonetheless, it must be said that you are a credit to Ravenclaw and an example of integrity and devotion to your colleagues."

Said colleagues uncomfortably looked at each other.

"He's going to use that against us, isn't it?" a voice whispered once the Headmaster had left the room.

Prince grimly nodded. "I don't know how, but he will."

Mesmer intently looked at the ghost who was back to reading the notes still on the table. "He's probably going to use Binns' death when either of us will ask for a raise, or a sick day," he absent-mindedly commented.

After a few minutes, Merrythought whispered, "How could this happen?"

Mesmer's lips slowly curled. "The matron said he probably died last night in his sleep, correct? A student of mine had 'foreseen' this so perhaps it was his fate to die then. After all, it's rather poetic, don't you think?" He turned his head and, seeing his colleagues' confused faces, he explained further, "Dying on All Hallows' Eve. It should have been obvious he would die and be reborn as a ghost on the day the dead walk among us."

But Professor O'Connor scoffed at the idea. "We're trying to find more concrete reasons for his demise, Mesmer," she dryly said. "Something more realistic than some higher being wanting him dead."

"Alright then," Mesmer crossed his arms and asked, "who was in charge of reminding Binns to eat and feeding him by force if he forgot these last three weeks?"

Prince, Dippet, and Merrythought froze.

Mesmer's electric blue eyes seemed to stare at their very soul. "It is because of people like you that we can't have nice things here."

* * *

"You should look at the bright side," Harry tried as he handed today's notes, "now you can see the blackboard _through him_."

"How can you be so insensitive?" Elphias Doge exclaimed and Albus blankly looked at him.

Harry grimaced. "Sorry."

He supposed now was not the time to remark he and his classmates had literally thrown gum at the ghost whenever his back was turn and snickered whenever one hit the head.

"I don't know how you can just…" Elphias glanced at Harry's note Albus was copying with the gemino charm. "Your professor becomes a _ghost_ and you just _take your quill and take notes_?"

Harry gave an embarrassed smile.

He couldn't tell he had forgotten Binns was supposed to be alive now, could he?

Elphias turned his head in the direction of Albus. "How long do you think it will take until Headmaster Black finds a replacement?"

"I am not quite sure, I confess." The auburn-haired began musing, "It may take a couple of weeks. But it may also take more."

Harry blinked and tilted his head. "A replacement? What for?"

The two other wizards blankly looked at him for a moment.

Elphias finally decided not to comment. "Do you think they will want us to go to the burial, Albus?"

"The burial, I do not know," the prefect slowly began, "but I have heard the ghosts are intending to make a welcoming feast for their new comrade. Their words. I do not think they would mind terribly if we join in their festivities."

"A welcoming feast."

Dumbledore nodded. "They do not necessarily see their death as a tragic incident. Why, I've even had the honour of being invited by Sir Nicholas for his four-hundreth deathday party on my first year here." Seeing Harry's incredulous smile, he smiled back. "It was quite an enlightening experience, I have to admit. I only wish I've had the foresight of taking something to eat beforehand."

Harry couldn't stop a snort as he remembered what had passed for food during Nearly-Headless Nick's five-hundredth deathday party.

Elphias gave a loud sigh as he took his copy of Harry's notes. "I wonder who will replace him."

"Oh, nobody. Binns is staying."

Elphias rolled his eyes. "Potter, you cannot _actually_ think he will keep teaching, do you? Yes, he taught us this morning but I am sure he was was in denial and has yet to understand what has happened to him. Once he does, Professor Binns is going to leave."

"Nope."

"Please, be serious."

"I am serious. Dead serious, in fact."

"Oh for-"

After a few minutes of bickering in front of Albus who ultimately decided to leave and help a few First Years, the two Gryffindors decided to bet two sickles on it.

With the rumours currently saying he was a seer, Doge should have known what a folly that was.

* * *

"No, I did not foresee that," Mesmer repeated the next day. "Frankly, I was as surprised as you were when you told me my colleague was dead. I only have an excellent poker face."

Harry had felt the man's eyes on him when the class had informed him of Binns' death the day before but he had no far not said a thing about Harry predicting his death weeks before Halloween.

The man paused. "One rule to remember is this one: no matter how deep you delve in the occult, there will always be something you will not see. Divination is many things, but it will never be an exact science. You should _never_ forget that. Now, open your book page fifty-three, we will study astrology. For those who have talked with my colleage Sepharial the other night, I am sure this will only be a review but I want to be thorough. As our esteemed Professor Black used to say when he was still teaching Astrology-"

"Astronomy," Black's voice automatically corrected.

Mesmer's lips curled. "As he used to say when he was still teaching, the sky is a map. If one ever gets lost, he only needs to raise his head to know where he should go. Now, if any of you were to encounter one of the centaurs living in the Forbidden Forest, you will quickly discover that, like many astrologers, they firmly believe it is not only space, but also time that is written in the starry sky and that these celestial bodies have some sort of conciousness. Will your own future be written in the stars now… Centaurs believe it will not, arguing we hardly hold any importance to them, but wizards on the other hand argue that-"

As the man began explaining 'the language of the stars', he considered the prophecy Cassandra had given to Aberforth Dumbledore.

He had the day before tried to find if there was a book explaining how prophecies worked but those he had found were only compilations of predictions and the rest seemed to be in the restricted section.

Still, if it seemed like the younger Dumbledore was now making a point in _not_ talking about it, Harry felt he couldn't be allowed that luxury.

This prophecy was mentionning some 'great adventurer'. And while the wording was considerably vague, it had been giving him an uneasy feeling ever since he's heard it.

It has been proven many times that Harry Potter had terrible luck when it came to prophecies after all.

* * *

Albus heavily sighed as he read Harry's notes in History of Magic. His were usually not that succinct but he supposed that would have to do.

He frowned and tilted his head. After a few seconds, he gave up and turned to Harry sitting next to him. "Sorry, what did you write here?"

Harry got even closer to him and frowned. "This part?" he asked as he pointed at a specific line.

Albus mutely nodded.

"If the Wizengamot considered each wizard had the right of owning a wand, it ruled that goblins, like any other magical creature, did not." Finally leaving Albus' personal space, he added, "I don't have the best handwriting, sorry."

He coughed. "It's fine. Th-Thank you," he managed to say.

"You're welcome."

For a while, they didn't say anything. Albus trying to read the copy he's made of Harry's notes, Harry finishing his essay on astronomy.

Eyeing what the other wizard was writing, he pointed out a mistake he had just made.

Harry blinked. "Right. Thank you, err… Thank you."

Albus sighed as he posed his notes.

"Harry," he slowly began, "I could not help noticing the past few weeks that you have had trouble referring to me by my name."

He truly wished he didn't have to say this but after two months, he had to point it out. Maybe he was partly to blame for this situation, but it was time in his opinion to take care of the problem at hand.

The new student uncomfortably scratched his head. "So you noticed. O-Of course, you noticed." He sighed. "It's just..." He swallowed and didn't say anything else.

"I tend to do that," he kindly remarked. "And I know why you have such difficulties. I get it. The name of 'Dumbledore' has quite a history after all."

Dumbledore was these days a difficult name to bear. Whenever one would mention it, the first thing on everybody's mind was the now infamous Perceval Dumbledore. And whenever Albus would give his surname, he needed to go past it and prove Albus Dumbledore was not like the idea they had of his father. Time and time again.

"Nonetheless, I'm afraid I must stress this: I am my own person. And I am not _that_ Dumbledore."

Harry startled and painfully closed his eyes and sighed. "I know. I- _I know_ and… I'm sorry. It's just- I don't actually know what I should call you," he finally confessed. "When I look at you, I sometimes see him and-" He abruptly shook his head "Sorry. This isn't very fair to you, all this."

"It is not," he acknowledged. "But it is quite pointless to lament over this. Also, I suppose I am to shoulder some responsibility on the current situation between us." Seeing the other man frowning, he allowed himself to smile. "I have been calling you 'Harry' every since you've been here but not ever once have I told you it was fine for you to call me 'Albus'. I tend to tell my friends to call me by this name so but it seems like I have not told you. Maybe I'm being quite presomptuous but perhaps you will stop seeing him and start seeing me if you do?"

Harry frowned and carefully mouthed the name. He then made a confused face, and strangely looked at him.

"I suppose I can try."

It wasn't really the answer Albus had been seeking. And he knew it would still take time for Harry Potter to truly be comfortable with him.

Still, it was a beginning.


	17. The match of the century

"Albus."

The name felt strange in his mouth. It felt strange by how easy it seemed to just say it.

This Albus Dumbledore had asked him to call him by this name and yet there was something quite forbidden about it. Calling your teacher by his given name, calling Professor McGonagall 'Minerva' or even Professor Snape 'Severus'. It felt like a disrespect and Harry despite Professor Lupin's encouragements had never managed to call the wizard 'Remus'.

Yet here he was, in his bed, trying to get used at the idea of calling Professor Dumbledore's younger self 'Albus' at three in the morning.

He sighed and tiredly pinched his nose, wondering how this had become his life.

He had a point, he grudgingly admitted. This Dumbledore was not that Dumbledore. Except he was. Or he was going to be and isn't supposed to be the same thing? And God wasn't that all so confusing.

He put his hand on his face and sighed.

He knew it was a tall order to ask the fifteen years old Dumbledore to fill the shoes of the one-hundred and fourteen Dumbledore. He knew how cruel that was, and he owed it to the fifteen years old wizard to at least acknowledge him and see the wizard he was right now.

But if Harry did that, if Harry were to look at him and only see Albus, wasn't he letting go of Professor Dumbledore? And if Harry were to let go of his Headmaster, wouldn't he also let go of everything he represented? Did embracing that strange past mean he had to let go of his present? And wouldn't that be the biggest betrayal of all?

He groaned. He knew there was a reason why he hated reflecting over that sort of stuff. And he was most certainly overthinking this.

He looked at the ceiling and wondered what Professor Dumbledore, the one who was actually looking at him in the eyes, would tell him if he knew how torn he was on such a seemingly pointless matter.

Harry spent the entire night trying to imagine it. He tried to imagine Professor Dumbledore listening to his grievances with several well-placed nods and afterward say just the right thing. He would say something very wise and it'd suddenly look like it was the most evident thing in the world.

He tried to find what words he would use and shake them off whenever they sounded wrong in his head. Too direct, too insensitive, far too sulky.

Finally, he settled for what his mind had cooked up and deemed it to be the closest he would ever get to an answer.

" _Embracing the present does not necessarily mean letting go of the past or, in this instance, the future. In fact, if you do not mind me giving my opinion on the matter, accepting the past is necessary to_ _respect the present and_ _confidently_ _walk to_ _a brighter future_."

Harry thought about it for several long minutes. Finally, he sighed.

He didn't know if the real Professor Dumbledore would actually say that, but he supposed it would have to do.

* * *

The next day, Albus could see the wizard was making an effort. The 'good morning, Albus' had been hesitant, and the he had grimaced as soon as he had said his name but Albus appreciated that he was at least trying.

"I suppose I should thank you again," Harry told him after Transfiguration. Looking at the people in the corridor, he continued, "For your help, I mean. I know how busy you must be, and it must be so complicated for you..."

He smiled. "I do not mind helping you in the slightest, Harry."

Harry smiled back. "Still, thank you. Is there..." He hesitated a moment. "Is there anything I can do to help you?" he finally asked. "To pay you back."

"That is very kind of you. I do not particularily need your help at the present moment, if you want to know. Although, I admit I do not know if that will always be that way so I suppose I can keep your offer in mind."

Neither of them said anything until they entered Gryffindor Tower.

"I suppose I should wish you luck for tomorrow's match. I am sure it will be quite a thing to watch."

Harry blushed in embarassment and looked away.

"W-Well… Higgs _is_ the youngest Quidditch player in a century," he began after a moment of hesitation. "So it feels like… I don't know, it feels like this match is the most important I will ever play. Like there is something I need to prove there."

Albus slowly nodded.

"The two of you have had a talk earlier, is that correct?"

Harry nodded. "I don't know how you know, but yes. I wanted to… I wanted to talk to him and wish him luck, I suppose." He grimaced. "Didn't really go well."

That was quite an understatement honestly. From what he had understood, the wizard had refused to shake his hand and announced him he knew the Gryffindor would be playing with an old Oakshaft 79 and pointedly informed him that _he_ had a Silverwing which could fly up to _ninety miles per hour_ while Potter's broom couldn't go above seventy and that _he_ was the future of Quidditch while Potter was nothing but a relic of a past long gone.

Potter's snort, it was said, had broken something in the man who had then began shouting and copiously insulting him.

"Still, I wouldn't have taken you for the type of wizard to enjoy Quidditch," Harry pointed out.

Albus frowned, trying to find how the other wizard could have reached such conclusion.

When he did, he couldn't help coughing. "Oh, I just come to your trainings to encourage Aberforth," he said as he embarrassingly waved his hand. "As a general rule, I am quite indifferent to Quidditch. I need quite an incenstive to be interested, to be honest."

Harry at that broadly smiled. "Well then, we will try not to disappoint. Watch carefully tomorrow, it is going to be the match of the century."

* * *

Finally, it was the highly anticipated beginning of the Quidditch season. Slytherin vs Gryffindor.

In the changing room, each captain was giving their last prep talk.

"We have all trained very hard," Gladys Boothby told her team. "We have the best chasers," she said as she turned to them, "we have damn good beaters-"

"Thank you," Aberforth said as he raised his hand.

"-even if a bit too hot-blooded. And our seeker is very good."

The last part seemed however weaker than the rest and Harry grimaced.

He knew better than anybody how terrible the broom he had taken from the broomshed was. And even if Boothby had tried to charm the broom to be easier to control, it was still terrible compared to brooms such as his Firebolt or his old Nimbus 2000, or whatever broom they had in that time.

They may acknowledge his skills, and the other Gryffindors seemed to believe he would pull some miracle, Boothby had never quite managed to hide the fact that, to her, he was the team's weakest link.

His ego still had to recover from this realization.

As Harry laced his Quidditch boots, he couldn't help thinking about Victor Higgs, Slytherin's seeker and star player, and how the wizard had hardly be better than Boothby.

When Elphias had pointed the Slytherin in Charms the day before, Harry hadn't helped wondering what sort of player he was. The youngest Quidditch player of in the 19th century, Harry hadn't helped feeling some sort of kinship to that player as soon as he had heard from the young Dumbledore about him.

That and a burning need to find out which of them was the better player.

But a five minute discussion the day before when Harry had wished the youngest player of this century 'good luck' had revealed the man to be nothing but a ponce.

Harry had never thought of himself as an arrogant man, despite what the likes of Snape would say. In fact, some of his friends liked to tell him he was too modest and would outright laugh to his face whenever Harry tried to explain they needed to stop embellishing anything he had done.

But the utter contempt on Higgs' face as Harry had introduced himself to him… Looking down on him as if he was nothing but a bug to be squashed… Telling him he couldn't _possibly_ win because he had a rusty broom and he wasn't that good anyway...

Harry gritted his teeth and grabbed the Oakshaft 79.

That wizard was going down.

* * *

"Welcome everybody for today's Quidditch match!" Elphias' voice resonated in the stadium. "I am Elphias Doge and I will be your commentator for today's match, the one everybody has been waiting for: Slytherin vs Gryffindor!"

"Slytherin has been the reigning champion for four years straight," he continued. "Will they repeat their exploit and defeat Gryffindor once again, and will Gryffindor show them who the superior team _clearly_ is?"

Gryffindor's side roared in approval and Albus couldn't help shaking his head in amusement.

He knew how anticipated today's match was. After all, Victor Higgs was now captain of Slytherin Quidditch Team and Slytherin's star player was expected to lead his team to a complete victory.

On Gryffindor side, however, the news that Harry Potter was their seeker had somehow convinced their house something extraordinary was going to happen and that Higgs was going to bite the dust.

Was today really going to be the match of the century as Harry had told him before snickering, Albus did not know. But there was little doubt in his eyes today's match would not be easily forgotten.

Finally, the referee threw the quaffle and the match began.

"Ross takes the quaffle! Ross to Pallas, Pallas back to Ross. Ross sends to Prewett who sends the quaffle to- Flich intercepts! Flich to Norris, Norris to Figg. Figg throws the quaffle and-"

Slytherin's side cheered when the Quaffle went through the hoop.

And if Gryffindor's groaned at this development, their Seeker for some unfathomable reason seemed to be having a laughing fit as the chasers were fighting for the Quaffle.

He then stopped and abruptly flied ahead.

"Looks like Potter has already spotted the snitch," Elphias commented. "Go, Potter, go. You can do it!"

But Higgs was catching up and the seeker flied past him with what seemed to be ridiculous ease.

* * *

Harry cursed and desperately tried to fly faster.

Unfortunately, the Oakshaft 79 was many things, but a fast broom it certainly was not.

For a few horrifying seconds, he saw Higgs getting closer and closer to the snitch, his fingers almost touching the elusive ball.

A bludger hit the seeker's back. Higgs lowered in arm to grip onto his broom in order not fall.

That was enough for the snitch to escape.

Gryffindor cheered as Harry shakily breathed, thanking his lucky stars.

"A well-placed hit from Dumbledore," Elphias's approving voice said. "Looks like the match is not yet over. Now, Pallas in possession. She flies past Slytherin's defense and sends the quaffle to-"

Boothby had been right, he thought as he flied up. His broom was a handicap. He had known it was very slow, but Harry hadn't quite realized how comparatively faster Higg's would be. Compared to him, Harry was as slow as a snail. And because of that, Gryffindor had almost lost.

Boothby had been right: he _was_ the team's weakest link.

Harry gritted his teeth and moodily flied up, holding unto the handle so tight to stay in control he could swear the wood was cracking under his hands.

It was supposed to be the match of the century. It was supposed to be a daring duel where everybody would be holding their breath before Harry ultimately won. Instead, it was basically Harry trying to catch the snitch only to see Higgs reaping the benefits of his find, Harry struggling with his broom's lack of agility and Harry being unable to do anything because this broom was lesser.

Harry being outclassed because he did not have the right broom to stand on an equal footing, and as a result letting everybody down.

To think he had thought he would show off and prove himself to be worthy of being the youngest Quidditch player in a century.

Albus Dumbledore had to be truly underwhelmed.

So, _that_ is the best the twentieth century can do? he was probably thinking.

* * *

"-and Dumbledore hits Fudge with his bat!" Elphias exclaimed as the referee flew in the direction of the two beaters fighting. "Dammit, Dumbledore! There is supposed to be a bludger between you and the others, you know?"

Albus sadly shook his head as his brother got reprimanded by the referee. He didn't know why he was even surprised.

"Penalty. Yes, it is only natural," Elphias sighed as Barnaby Flich took the quaffle. He scored and Gryffindor groaned in displeasure. "And we are now at 120 to 90. Wake up, Gryffindor."

Above, the two seekers were flying in circle, like two birds of prey waiting to find a prey to seize.

Finally, one dived.

"Looks like Potter has spotted the snitch again! Higgs is trying to catch up with Potter. But will he be on time?"

Encouraged by the screams, both seekers sped up. Harry going closer to the ground, Higgs catching up with the Gryffindor until they were both side by side a couple feet above the ground.

"Come on, Potter! Hurry up!"

But Harry pulled up at the last second while Higgs crashed. Higgs rolled on the grass and lied there, unmoving.

"I-Is he okay?" Elphias fearfully asked. "Oi, Higg! Are you okay?"

But the player in green didn't move. And he still didn't move when the time-out was called and Hogwarts' matron rushed to the middle of the pitch.

Finally after what seemed to be an eternity but mustn't have been longer than a couple of minutes, the player got up. He then shakily grabbed his broom and mounted it under the crowd' applause.

"I crashed like that once," Elphias commented. "Thought I'd never get up. I've got to say, I don't know how he's doing it."

But even though it was clear the wizard could still fly, the wizard now seemed hesitant. After a couple of minutes, Albus realized Higgs was actively avoiding Harry and frowned at that, wondering why.

They had all assumed Potter had been after the snitch, he suddenly realized, but Albus had never seen it once.

* * *

Harry sighed in relief.

He hadn't known if he would be able to pull it off with the Oakshaft, but his broom _was_ slow so attempting a Wronski feint was probably less difficult. Still, he had geniunely believed for a moment Higgs wouldn't take the bait and he would crash like a moron.

Seeing the seeker's hesitant flying, he smiled.

While it looked like the crowd hadn't realized what he had done -and how could they? Wronski wouldn't be born before a _very_ long time- Higgs did. And that was the most important.

Rather than playing as Hogwarts' youngest seeker in a century, Harry had decided to play as a man from the twentieth century and show everybody the best they could do.

And if the brooms from his time were considerably faster, that was not the only thing that had changed nor was it the only reason they were better than those before them.

Harry spotted a golden spark bellow and dived, full speed ahead.

"And Potter has spotted the snitch again! And Higgs is- What are you doing, Higgs?"

And Harry couldn't help laughing when he realized why the other wizard wasn't following him.

Sorry, that was the real deal this time.

* * *

Gryffindor Quidditch Team came back to their Common Room in thunderous applause.

Smile wide, the team bowed, accepting the praises.

"I can't believe Potter caught that snitch with _an Oakshaft 79_ ," Arthorius commented as a Second Year whistled. "When I heard he was flying on that old thing, I thought we were done. Should have known better. Do you think there is anything he cannot do?"

If there was, he was hiding it pretty well.

"Did you know? Higg is saying Potter tricked him. That he pretended he was after the snitch to get rid of him."

He _did_ get tricked, Albus couldn't help thinking. And while it was most probable what the wizard had done wouldn't have been considered a foul, he could understand the bitter disappointment the Slytherin was most probably feeling.

After all, Victor Higgs was not the only one who had been defeated by Harry Potter.

Albus couldn't help but sigh at the remembrance of their last duel. He had several times since then tried to have a reduel during Defence Against the Dark Arts. Each time however, the new student would find a reason to refuse or he'd be foiled by Headmaster Black's son.

How was he supposed to avenge his honour if he couldn't find a mean for him to have his reduel?

Albus left his musing when he spotted Harry coming in his direction. "Excellent game," he told him with a smile.

Harry laughed. "I really thought I was done for a moment but I pulled through."

"I'm surprised you are not mentionning the feint you made near the end."

Harry's face brightened. "You noticed?" Seeing the prefect nodding he smiled. "I've never tried it before but I thought Higgs couldn't even _think_ I'd do that and the broom's maximum speed is only 60 miles per hour so…"

"I'm surprised you are not confirming Higgs' claims."

Harry scratched the back of his neck and chuckled. "Probably wouldn't be a good idea, with… you know..."

Albus knowingly nodded. After all, a feint such as this one was more effective when nobody knew it existed. He could respect such strategic decision.

"At least you noticed. I don't really care if the others don't know but you… You, I wanted you to know."

Albus' cheeks felt rather warm. "Really."

He smiled and nodded. "The others cannot understand but you… you, you get it, why I needed to catch the snitch before Higgs."

Before Albus could congratulate him again and ask for clarifications, Virginia Selwyn walked in their direction and gave Harry a flirty smile. "Excellent game, Potter."

Harry flushed. "Th-Thank you."

The witch began playing with a strand of fiery red hair. "When you and Higgs dived, I thought my heart was going to stop. I should have known better. You are a terrific flyer."

To Albus' horror, the wizard chuckled and nervously ran a hand through his hair. "Really now?"

"Virginia," Albus decided to cut in the conversation, "before I forget, the Headboy has asked me to inform you about some modifications with our rounds."

Virginia sighed. "Has he now?"

"Quite. Now, if you would please follow me and allow me to explain it in details..."

* * *

The next day, Harry began considering if joining the Quidditch Team had been such a good idea.

True, he was flying again, he liked the freedom and peace it gave him and he had managed to prove himself as the better seeker. But on the other hand…

Well, being Gryffindor's star player, he couldn't really say he was being very discreet now, could he? He had gained some kind of popularity he couldn't just shake it off. Also, he had a Quidditch season to play and couldn't just leave like a thief if he and Dumbledore were to find a way to bring him home. And what about the bloke who had been supposed to take his spot? What if that person had been supposed to be some great Quidditch player?

The more he was thinking about it, the more it seemed like it had been a terrible idea.

The butterfly flied in front of him and Harry, as he always did, blankly looked at it.

"What do you want now?"

The butterfly flipped his wings and made a few circles, as if to answer him.

Harry sighed and got up from his bed, the butterfly dutifully following him once he had left the washroom.

Albus was in the Common Room, engrossed in what seemed to be some project involving sweets. "Ah, good morning, Harry," he greeted him before waving his wand over a chocolate frog. "Animo."

A leg twiched.

"Are you trying to recharm it?" Harry couldn't help asking.

The auburn-haired nodded. "I am learning animation and that frog is so far the best item to start." Seeing him frowing, he explained further, "You may not know, but each chocolate frog you buy are animated."

"Really?"

The prefect nodded. "Not much, there is just enough magic for a jump or two, but ultimately yes. Animo."

Another leg twiched.

The wizard tried a few more times and Harry couldn't help wondering, "Why do you like transfiguration so much?"

"Hmm? Sorry, I didn't quite catch what you were saying. Would you mind telling me what you've just said again?"

"Transfiguration. Why?" The young wizard tilted his head. "I know you love transfiguration, but why?"

Albus seemed to consider the question a moment. "At the risk of sounding rather sentimental and childish, I've always seen transfiguration as the most magical magical art we learn. Besides," he continued with a small smile, "I have always been fascinated with the concept of transformation and it happens that transformation is a vital aspect of transfiguration and alchemy."

"Really."

He nodded. "There is just something truly breathtaking in change. For example," he began explaining with a sparkle in his eyes as the butterfly started flying over the chocolate frog, "I am sure your friend here will agree with me on the benefits of metamorphosis. And if a caterpillar can become such a beautiful creature, I am firmly on the alchemists' side when they say that _we_ also transform all thorough our lives and that so can anything. Nothing is truly fixed or set in stone and transfiguration only allows you to either take shortcuts or push the transformation in a path that would normally be rather harduous to take."

Harry couldn't stop a smile at that. "Really."

He very seriously nodded. "The secret is to insure what you have under your wand takes the best path it can and that you guide it all thorough its journey to the best of your abilities."

Harry chuckled.

If he had any doubt that man wouldn't be a teacher, they were now put to rest.

"What about you now?" Albus asked Harry who stopped chuckling and frowned. "I can see you prefer Defence Against the Dark Arts. Is there a reason for this?"

Harry took a long pause. "I'm not quite sure. I mean," he continued, "it's not as if I've had many good teachers. It's just… it comes easily and…"

He stopped and couldn't help a humourless chuckle at what he'd just thought. "I've always had a gift with getting myself in troubles," he began explaining. "Because I didn't have a choice, because I thought it was the right thing to do, because people I love needed help. Hermione told me I have a 'saving people thing' once. Didn't like hearing it, but it's probably true." He shrugged. "I picked up Defence Against the Dark Arts because I knew I needed to learn it. It just happens I was good at it. Nothing really deep like you, sorry."

"Oh, don't sell yourself short."

Harry shrugged again. "I prefer your reason for enjoying magic. I've never seen it like this."

Now that he was thinking about it, it made an awful lot of sense. That idea everything was bound to change and transform. Being a man from the future, he could see how true it all was. How everything was going to vanish eventually and be replaced by something new.

Like this man sticking his tongue and attempting to animate his sweet. One day he would transform and become the greatest wizard in modern time. But until then, he was just Albus.

"Do you mind if I watch how you do it, Albus? Animation seems rather wicked and I'm tired of vanishing stuff."

So if he was bound to vanish, maybe he should accept him and live in the present moment.


	18. A not very Merry Christmas

Harry sighed as he closed yet another book on charms in the library.

He had no idea what he was doing. But looking at Albus working so relentlessly ever since he's told him he was a time-traveller, he couldn't help feeling something akin to guilt. For this reason, as he was relatively ahead of his peers in class, the time-traveller had decided to use whatever free time he had to at least try not to come empty-handed when Albus would show him what he's managed to learn.

Not for the first time, Harry wondered if it wouldn't be better for the two of them to work together instead of what they had decided to do. Dumbledore had explained that it was more effective as they would tackle the problem from two different sides, but it looked like he was still stuck in the starting line.

Harry glanced at his meagre notes on what he knew about time travel. Besides a few empty generalities and a couple drawings of butterflies, it was still desperately empty.

He groaned as he tiredly pinched his nose, the real butterfly flying in front of him and finally landing on his notes.

How was he supposed to find something on time travel when time travel had yet to be invented? It was like answering a question before it was even written!

Harry suddenly stilled.

Hadn't Professor Mesmer managed to just do it that time he gave them this impossible test?

He hadn't finished that thought that the butterfly which had decided to follow him left the table and slowly flew in the direction of the divination section. After a few seconds, Harry pocketed his notes and went there as well.

Divination may be a lot of rubbish, he started thinking as he searched for a book, it still was the closest thing to what he was seeking he had. At the point he was in, it couldn't hurt to look at what this subject could teach him.

Taking the grimoire on which the butterfly had landed, he went back to his chair and began reading.

 _What is time?_

 _The question has been haunting sentient beings ever since they have been able to measure it. But if we have in some ways managed to count it down to the second and use it to regulate our lives, we have yet to tame it and it is in fact highly possible that we never will._

 _If time is usually defined as a progression of events from a point we call 'past' to another we call 'future', the existence of seers strongly challenges the belief it is unidirectional. To these beings, the question takes an entire new dimension that can in some circles even approach the divine._

 _Regardless of all these considerations, it is evident to those learning divination above a certain level that the classic understanding of time needs to be rejected as past and future become so intertwined cause and effect may very well be one. For these reasons, it becomes necessary to redefine our understanding of the world we live in and change our process of thinking to even approach the glimpse of an answer._

 _Only then will we be able to travel safely in the flows of time._

Harry's heart sped in excitement and he hurriedly turned the page, thinking that maybe he could do it.

He quickly changed his mind when the author started talking about philosophical concepts he had never heard of such as determinism, libertarianism and compatibilism.

It was going to take a while.

* * *

Weeks passed and, before Harry realized, November was gone and students were preparing to leave for Christmas.

Harry naturally wrote his name on the list of students staying for the holidays but it was with some surprise he saw Albus' as well.

"You're not going home?" he asked him.

The prefect shook his head. "It is a very important year and I have many projects to attend and very little time. I'm afraid I cannot allow myself to become complacent."

Harry sighed. "You should _really_ rest. That cannot be healthy, what you're doing."

Albus smiled at him but Harry got the distinct feeling he was actually far from happy and was even annoyed. "I appreciate that you worry about me, Harry. Truly, I do. However, I do believe I know my limits better than you do. So please, there is no need for you to bother yourself with my wellbeing."

Before Harry could say anything else the younger Dumbledore walked in his brother's direction in a foul mood.

"You're not coming home," he accused.

Albus sighed. "As I've just told Harry, I cannot. You understand, this year I must pass my Ordinary Wizarding Level tests and-"

"-and the great Albus Dumbledore, the cleverest man in the world is so scared he isn't going break some record he cannot even spend _two weeks_ home, is that it?"

"Aberforth, please…"

"Two weeks. Two _little_ weeks and you can't even do that? You're going to miss Christmas _again_?"

Harry uncomfortably shifted as Albus sighed again.

"Must we really do this in the middle of the Common Room, Aberforth?"

Aberforth bristled. "She is looking forward to us spending Christmas together," he accused. "The whole year, she has been waiting for it. And you can't even give her that?"

Albus glanced at Harry a second. "I know. But I am sure our mother will understand once you will explain the situation to her."

If the mood in the Common Room had been tense after Aberforth's arrival, it was nothing compared to how it was now. Looking at Aberforth, Harry would be hard-pressed to describe the look he was giving his brother as anything but murderous and he genuinely believed for a moment the younger wizard was going to jump on his brother and hit him.

But Aberforth sharply turned and headed to his dorms, making a point to slam the door as loudly as possible.

Albus tiredly pinched his nose and sighed. "I am terribly sorry you had to witness that. I know my sibling wishes I could go home but that is just not possible at the present moment. Maybe next year."

Albus then changed subject and Harry gladly let him.

There was a Hogsmeade trip the very next day and when the students went to the carriages, Harry headed to the one-eyed witch statue. After tapping its back, he took the secret passage heading to Hogsmeade.

The secret passage had been narrow when he had been thirteen but it was neigh impossible now for him to take it. Cursing all thorough the secret passageway, he swore to never use it again as it was clear now it had been made by a child who hadn't quite managed to wait to be old enough and somebody older was not meant to make the trip.

 _Finally_ , Harry reached the staircase leading to Hogsmeade and allowed himself a moment to catch his breath.

The lack of permission slip hadn't bothered him that much as he hadn't really considered going to Hogsmeade before but, with Christmas approaching, he hadn't help being wistful and restless the day before and he had suddenly felt trapped within Hogwarts' walls. So against his better judgement, he had decided to escape the castle, if only for a few hours.

Harry deeply inhaled and walked the two-hundred steps leading to the trap-door. He then carefully opened it and slowly took the wooden staircase leading to the main shop.

He wasn't supposed to be there. But he should be fine. He just had to avoid the prefects.

The first thing Harry noticed when he was at the top of the staircase was that Honeydukes existed in this time and was already selling its famous chocolate.

The second thing Harry noticed was a far too happy Albus Dumbledore with his arms full of sweets.

Harry cursed under his breath.

Thankfully, it seemed like the prefect was more focused on a reindeer made of chocolate flying over his head than what was happening around him and after a few scares Harry managed to leave the shop unnoticed. Once he was outside Honeydukes, he shakily breathed.

He… really didn't know why he was surprised.

Harry lowly chuckled and looked at the street he was in.

Hogsmeade looked like a Christmas card in the snow and Harry was once again shocked at how everything seemed unchanged in the Wizarding world. It was like the clock had stopped sometimes in the nineteenth century and nobody had bothered to fix it. As if time had no hold in this world.

Harry idly walked in the street, trying to spot the differences between this Hogsmeade and his if only to remind himself this wasn't his time.

The shrieking shack naturally had yet to be built and the spot where it would one day stand was nothing but land where a few cows and goats were grazing. The Three Broomsticks was already here but was called The Broomstick and there was no Zonko's but instead some gift shop.

Harry pensively looked at the gift shop where a couple Christmas stockings were hanging. Remembering something from a long time ago, he took the two sickles he's won in his bet and looked at them. Finally, he entered the shop.

Two sickles lighter, he left the shop and headed back to the secret passage, walking in front of a ruin where he knew the Hog's Head would one day be. In front of the sorry excuse of the house threatening to fall at the merest breeze stood a sign where _For Sale_ was written.

He wondered who the mad man who had bought it was.

* * *

When the winged horses and the carriage landed, the first thing Aberforth did was to shout at the man who opened the door: "You're a lousy driver!"

"Am not!" a wizard barely older than eighteen protested. "I'm very good at ma job."

"No, you're not!" Letting go of the handle he had been holding for life all through the travel, he shakily left the Brougham. "You hit Nelson's statue!"

"Fixed it good, didn't I?"

"The clock tower!"

"Details, details."

"I spent more than two hours upside down!" he screamed.

"Look, I brought you 'ome, didn't I? Godric 'ollow, safe and sound."

" _Safe_?" Aberforth strangled himself. "You call this _safe_? When somebody travels, he wants to go home in one piece, not- not that!"

"Oh, ya lot never get it! When your travel it's the journey that matters, not the destination! Better a dangerous life than a borin' one, I tell ya! And who cares about safe?"

"I do!" he shouted.

The driver glared at him and Aberforth glared back. "I brought you 'ome. So now you pay me, and I go away."

Aberforth glared a few more seconds before finally taking five silver coins from his pocket and handing it to the driver, trying very hard not to throw the coins to his face.

The wizard made a mock salute. "Thank you, sir. And don't forget to tell your friends about Phaethon Knight and his flying Brougham."

"Believe me, I won't!"

The wizard laughed as he went back to the Brougham. "Merry Christmas!" he cheerfully shouted as the brown winged horses took flight.

Alberforth watched as the magical creatures turned and the Brougham hit the Prewetts' window. The shards stopped falling and, without even turning his head, the driver repaired the damage he had just caused with the flick of his wand.

He seriously doubted this Phaethon Knight had any future in the travel business.

With a sigh, Aberforth took his suitcase and headed to Hallow Street.

If they were to ask him, he honestly didn't know if he should qualify his time at Hogwarts as good or bad. On one hand, he had possibly made a friend, he had joined the Quidditch team and it looked like they had a very good chance of winning the cup. On the other hand however, his marks were as terrible as ever and he couldn't stop thinking about that prophecy. Sometimes he would even wake up shivering, Trelawney's grave voice ringing in his ears.

He was most certainly overthinking this. A first Albus would most certainly say, but Aberforth couldn't stop the nagging feeling that prophecy was concerning him, somehow, and Potter's grave face hadn't reassured him in the slightest. He wished somebody would just listen to him, and tell him everything would be alright and he didn't need to fear what Trelawney had said.

Maybe she would.

He sighed as he reached number seven and knocked.

He waited for several minutes. Finally, he heard noise on the other side of the door.

"Who is it?" a feminine voice asked.

"It's me. It's Aberforth."

There was no answer and Aberforth waited as the one on the other side of the door lowered the numerous charms on it. Finally the door opened and a haggard-looking woman with hair pulled into a high bun appeared.

His heart tightened when he realized his mother had even more white hair than three months ago.

"Aberforth?" Kendra Dumbledore slowly blinked. "Why on earth are you here?" Aberforth didn't answer and realization slowly drew on her face. "Don't tell me today is… Oh Aberforth!" She put her hand over her mouth as she let him enter. "I'm so sorry! It's completely slipped my mind! With everything here I just-"

"It's okay," Aberforth tried to reassure her. "I get it."

"You didn't have any trouble coming here from King's Cross at least, did you?"

Aberforth grimaced at the memory of his travel and shook his head. "It was okay," he told his mother as he took off his cloak and hand-knitted scarf. "A bit… A bit unique but it went well."

She sighed in relief and frowned. "Albus isn't here," she stated, her voice not betraying anything.

Aberforth grimaced. "He stayed at Hogwarts for his OWLs."

"His owl? Is Archimedes sick?"

"Not his owl, his OWLs. It's- it's how I call the Ordinary Wizarding Levels."

She dazedly blinked before shaking her head. "Only you, Aberforth." Glancing at him, she stated, "She is not going to like it."

Aberforth heavily sighed. "I know. How-" He hesitated, "How is she?"

Kendra Dumbledore didn't answer for what couldn't have been more than a few seconds and yet felt an eternity. "She's fine." For now went unsaid. "She hasn't left her room since the beginning of the month but she's in a festive mood."

"I'll tell her hello."

"You will not," Kendra Dumbledore sharply said as Aberforth was about to walk up the stairs. "You will let her greet you during dinner and you will under no circumstance go to her room."

Aberforth uncomprehendingly looked at his mother's impassive face. "Why not?"

Kendra Dumbledore looked away. "It is bad manners for a wizard your age to go to a lady's room," she informed him.

He frowned. "Really."

She nodded. "I have yet to feed the goats. Be a good boy now and make yourself useful. I will call you when it is time for dinner."

Aberforth suspiciously looked at the staircases. "Of course, Mother," he said as he took his coat and his scarf.

"Thank you."

It was only when he was feeding Grumble that he realized why he had really been banned from his sister's room.

And when he did, he chuckled.

"Not allowed there until Christmas, am I?"

* * *

Now that most of the students were gone, the people in the castle seemed in a cheerful mood and Harry could have sworn he's even seen Professor Prince whistling.

"Headmaster Black always goes back to London with his children for Christmas," Albus explained. "He may not look like it but he is a family man and he readily leaves the castle whenever he can." His lips curled. "Many students strongly think his absence in the castle is the greatest Christmas present we receive. One very few have the pleasure to enjoy as most of them leave for the Christmas festivities."

It was true the castle was neigh empty. In Gryffindor for example, only Albus and Harry had stayed and there were so few students it was decided they and the few teachers still here would spend the Christmas dinner on the same table.

Naturally, Albus took the occasion to discuss with the professors and soon enough he and Professor O'Connor were engrossed in some highly complex transfiguration concepts, the Ravenclaws on the table leaning not as discretely as they probably believe themselves to be in order to overhear the conversation.

Harry had to admit he was pretty bored by all this. In fact, he was feeling quite let down and couldn't even bear staying there.

"Leaving already?" Albus wondered as Harry left his chair after dessert.

Harry waved his hand. "Don't mind me. I'm… I'm just tired and-" He faked a yawn. "And I think I'll go to bed."

Albus looked at him as if he didn't quite believe him but then shrugged as if to say 'suit yourself' and went back to his conversation.

When Harry was back in the Common Room, he couldn't help glancing at the Christmas tree facing the fireplace.

It was only then that he realized why this Christmas had been so unbearable ever since people had started talking about it. And Harry couldn't stop a broken laugh at that realization.

Of course he couldn't be happy. After all, it was not as if there was going to be a Christmas jumper waiting for him tomorrow.

Or anything, really.

* * *

"Merry Christmas, Harry," Harry whispered in the safety of his bed the next morning.

He didn't want to get up. He wanted to stay there until it was 1996 again. And, the more he was thinking about the future, the more he realized what else had been taken from him.

He wasn't fifteen anymore. He didn't know when that had happened exactly but sometimes during October, Harry had turned sixteen and he hadn't even noticed.

Harry was so done with this whole mess he decided there and then to pick the 31st as his supposed date of birth.

Not that anybody had asked him. They had all asked him where he was from, where he had learnt magic, what his presumed sight had showed him, but nobody had ever cared asking when he was born and nobody had wished him happy birthday.

He looked at the ceiling for several minutes, trying to find there a reason to get up. Finally he sighed and difficultly left the bed, thinking that ceiling was as interesting as the one from his time.

"Merry Christmas, Harry!" Albus jovially greeted as he had finished dressing himself and entered the Common Room.

"Merry Christmas, Albus," he mumbled as he saw the unwrapped gifts under the Christmas tree.

"I'm afraid I could not wait," he said with a sheepish smile as Harry looked at the pile of books next to the red-haired.

He pointed at the five or so books. "That many?"

"Oh that?" he said as he turned his attention to them. "One man can never have too many books, in my honest opinion. My friends know that and are kind enough to offer me several. Take this one for example," he remarked as he took the one on the top of the pile. "This one has barely been released but I am on good terms with the author so she had the kindness to offer me one. Looking at the title, I have no doubt this will one will my favourite. Look."

On the cover of the book was written in golden letters: _Hogwarts, a History_.

Harry thought he was going to shatter in a million pieces there and then.

Albus put the book back on the pile, his attention back to his presents. "Now, what else have we got here?" he whispered, not noticing the despair on Harry's face. "It looks like there are no more books so let's see then..." He shook his head and put one badly wrapped box on his knees. "That one is Aberforth's, no doubt."

The box contained coal.

"Definitely Aberforth," he murmured as he put the box aside. "We'll see what I can do with it. And now," he said as he took the penultimate gift, "the present we are all waiting for…"

It was a pair of socks.

Harry startled and abruptly shook his head. "Socks?" he numbly said, forcing himself to focus on that.

"Yes." He raised one green sock on eye level and hummed, "The goat still needs to see its proportions revised, but it is definitely a pair of warm woollen socks. I always receive a pair for Christmas."

Harry suddenly felt very stupid.

"I suppose this is all for me," he said with a smile. Seeing the last present on the Christmas tree, he took the note on it and smiled. "I suppose that is one is-"

He stilled and Harry prayed for the ground to swallow him.

"It looks that one is also for me," he stated, his face betraying no emotion, as he started reading the note on which the seller had written 'For Albus'. "Is that… Is that one from you, Harry?"

"Who me?" Harry said, cheeks flushing in embarrassment as he looked away. "No, no. Not at all."

"Harry," Albus' voice softly said, "don't lie to me, please."

Harry tensed. "I know it mustn't be easy for you to look after me," he slowly began, refusing to look at the prefect. "And I must be quite a burden for you."

"You're not. I don't mind at all."

"So I- I suppose I just wanted to say 'Thank you'. That's all."

"Oh. Oh," he numbly repeated.

From the corner of his eyes, Harry saw the other wizard looking at the now empty Christmas tree.

"You… You didn't have to, you know."

"I wanted to," he murmured and winced as the other boy slowly took care of the wrapping paper. When Albus Dumbledore looked at the pair of red socks with stags on them, he winced.

When he had seen them in the showcase, he hadn't helped remembering a conversation he's had with Professor Dumbledore a long time ago. But it was obvious now he's got it wrong, and he should have played it safe and just bought some stupid book with the money he's won from his bet with Elphias.

Albus' cheeks reddened and he looked away. "I'm very touched, Harry."

"You don't like it."

"No, no," he weakly protested. "It's not that at all. It's just…" He swallowed.

Suddenly, staying here was unbearable. "Merry Christmas," Harry mumbled before fleeing the Common Room.

When he was finally outside, he shivered as he leant against the cold stone and shakily breathed.

He didn't belong there. He had always known that but never before had he felt that gaping hole in his chest so keenly.

He was trapped. Completely and utterly trapped in that place that at first glance looked like his home but missed the mark on so many points it was nothing but a farce of it.

Harry then began walking for several hours around the school ground like the lost soul he most certainly was. Distantly, he knew he should go back to his Common Room and grab something warm but he couldn't even bring himself to lift his wand and summon a cloak.

Why would he go back inside anyway? It was not as if the people he truly wanted to be with were waiting for him.

The sun was setting when Harry finally went back inside. As he entered the Common Room once again he noticed all the presents had been moved and that Albus had left and had yet to come back. With a weary sigh, he decided to call it a day and just pretend for his own sanity that today had never happened. When he entered his dorms, he blinked.

There was a little box and a note on his bed.

Harry numbly looked at them and slowly took the note. It wasn't signed, but he recognized the narrow, loopy writing.

 _A little reminder of the rewards of perseverance and skill._

 _A Very Merry Christmas to you as well._

Harry let the note fall and took the little box. Removing the silver bow and the light blue wrapping, he looked at what was inside the box.

It was a snitch.

He made a move to take it but the snitch suddenly left the box. With a small smile slowly forming on his face, he let it fly above his head. Finally, he chuckled when the green butterfly flew and attempted to follow it, as if it was trying to catch it.

It seemed like, no matter the era, Albus Dumbledore just knew what to give him for Christmas.

* * *

"Mother," Aberforth slowly began as the two of them were washing the dishes, "I was wondering… Did you receive my letter? You've never replied, so…"

Kendra Dumbledore sighed as she put the plate down. "I told you not to write about these matters, Aberforth."

"Yes, but-"

"What if somebody had intercepted the owl? Have you even thought about that, Aberforth?"

"I didn't mention anything!" Aberforth protested. "And-"

"-and letters can be intercepted or read by anybody," she interrupted. "So yes, I read it. I read it, and so did she."

Aberforth winced.

"How do you think she reacted, Aberforth?"

The boy looked away. "What did you tell her?"

"I told her I was going to think about it." She sighed. "She didn't like it at all."

In fairness, whenever their mother was telling them 'I'll think about it', the answer was always no.

"And?" he tried nonetheless. Kendra Dumbledore raised a hand over her face but he kept pushing. "It could be good for her. And Enola would never-"

"If it was just going to be letters," Kendra interrupted him with a sigh, "then it would be more than alright for her to write. I would be even rejoiced."

"It's just letters!"

"No, it's not. Oh, it will begin like this but eventually Enola will want to see her. And we cannot let that happen, we just _cannot_. It is true she can sometimes keep the change but never for long. If Enola were to come and see what she has become, she will panic and warn the Aurors. And when she does, what do you think is going to happen next?"

"She's not going do that! They're friends!"

"That was _five years ago_. People change, Aberforth."

"She would never-"

"Of course she will," she sharply cut him off. "Do you really think she will not tell anybody what happened to her? How gullible are you, Aberforth?"

Aberforth's throat tightened. "Mum, please," he begged.

He didn't even know what he was asking for anymore.

Her shoulders dropped and she tiredly pinched her nose. "The outside world is dangerous, Aberforth," she murmured her held-long belief that Aberforth had heard almost daily ever since that day. " _She_ is dangerous."

"She's not!"

"We both know she doesn't mean it," her voice wavered, "but she can be _very_ dangerous and it's time for you to accept that fact. We are family, so of course it doesn't matter to us. To everybody else however? Who could look at her and still decide to be her friend if they knew what she is? What she did? Who Aberforth? Who can, _possibly_ , accept her?"

Something shattered. And, from the other side of the door, both mother and son heard an inhuman scream.

Kendra's legs gave out.

"Not again," she whispered. "Why? Why?" she cried as ugly tears fell on her face. "Why is it always like that? Why is everything like that? What did I-What did we do to deserve this?"

But Aberforth ignored her and, wand already in hand, he headed to the door. "I'll talk to her. Just- It's-" His lips stretched into a humourless smile. "Don't worry, Mum. Everything's gonna be alright."

He hoped that was the truth and not another lie in the long list that had become their lives.


	19. New year, new problems

If Harry had thought it was the end of festivities, he was proved wrong when a few days later a rather jovial Albus Dumbledore reminded him it was now Hogmanay.

Seeing him frowning, Albus explained. "The last day of the year. Have you never heard about it before?"

Tomorrow it would be 1897, Harry numbly realized. And while Harry had only been stuck in the past for four months, he was keenly aware how queer celebrating a new year in the past truly was.

He was leaving 1896 alright. Time was still moving without him doing anything; it just wasn't moving fast enough.

Distantly, Harry could swear a clock was ticking.

"Harry?"

Harry shook his head. "It kinda rings a bell. A teacher must have mentioned it before, maybe. She probably has but I just… I wasn't paying attention, I suppose. It's… It's Scottish right?"

The auburn-haired nodded. "I will try not to bore you and just say that Scots have the habit in that time to sing Auld Lang Syne."

Harry smiled when he remembered catching Professor McGonagall doing just that once.

"Also, the first person to enter a household on New Year should have dark hair. The festivities are undoubtedly going to be wondrous at Hogsmeade but, alas, we are not to leave the castle. Still, it does not mean that we do not celebrate on our side the end of a well-spent year and the beginning of a new one."

Dumbledore had been right Harry couldn't help thinking while he explained how they were handling the festivities. He had been right for it has been months since Harry has been in the past and he now had to celebrate 1897. It had been months and yet Harry still wasn't close to a solution to go back to 1996. And now that 1896 was taking its last bow one terrible thought came to him.

What if it wasn't actually a matter of months, but a matter of _years_?

* * *

"How are your researches going?" Harry suddenly asked before dinner.

While Albus hadn't mentioned anything to the wizard, he supposed it was obvious he was working on something. It was only a pity his work for _Transfiguration Today_ wasn't going as smoothly as he had hoped.

He gave a little sigh and closed his notebook. "Between you and me, I must confess I am feeling quite down. I have no doubt I will succeed eventually but when? That, I confess, I am quite unsure."

Harry winced and looked away.

"What about you?" he asked. "I have seen you are also working on something."

He had to admit he was quite curious about this. Several times he had wanted to read the wizard's notes but it seemed like the other was making a point in always destroying his notes before anybody could get them.

"Any progress on your end?"

Harry heavily sighed. "I'm stuck. I'm stuck and I feel like I'm wasting my time."

"That is not true," Albus protested. "I know it may look like it but I can guarantee you that you are not." Seeing the other was still feeling down, he tried again. "Have you ever had to solve any mystery before?"

Harry snorted. "A few."

"I am taking an educated guess I admit, but I suppose you did not solve them immediately." Seeing Harry nodding he continued, "And yet you have, have you not?"

"That's different," the Gryffindor protested.

"How is it so? From where I'm standing it is quite the same thing."

"W-Well… I-I've always got help. My friend, Hermione, she was the one doing that kind of work. And without her and Ron, I'd have never managed to do it. If they were- If they were here then _maybe_ but-"

He stopped, swallowed and looked away, jaw tense.

Not for the first time Albus wondered if these friends of his were not dead. While it was true it was using the present to refer to them, the melancholic face he had whenever he was thinking about them often gave that impression.

It would also explain why the other wizard had come and who had seen being murdered.

"I do not know them," he slowly tried, "so I may be mistaken but I do believe they would say you are selling yourself short."

"Probably," he mumbled. "Certainly."

"And I have no doubt they would tell you that you can do it."

Harry stilled and turned his head in his direction. For a moment, he didn't say anything and just numbly looked ahead of him, as if he couldn't even see Albus.

He then bitterly chuckled. "They would, wouldn't they? They always thought that kind of things about me." He shook his head. "Sorry, it mustn't have been easy to hang with me these last few days. I don't like 1896 much, honestly."

"In this case, it is a good thing that we are entering into a new year. Let 1897 be a year for new beginning and success in our endeavours."

Harry gave a small smile. "I can toast to that at least."

During dinner, it wasn't without pleasure that Albus refilled his plate with shortbread once more as everybody waited for the countdown. Once the plates had finally vanished, he took a flute of butterbeer that had appeared in front of him and got up and looked at the giant clock that had been put above the doors.

When the students began chanting the countdown, Albus noticed Harry's voice was trembling.

* * *

"You can do it, Harry," Hermione's voice whispered in the back of his mind as he turned the page of yet another book on divination. "I know you can."

He sighed. "I hope you are right," he couldn't help whispering. "I really do." Because, on his end, he wasn't quite believing it.

The more he was working on it, the more Harry could see divination's problems and his had many similarities. For example, foreseeing a few minutes ahead was rather easy but going further could be troublesome for too many parameters got in play and the slightest change could snowball until the future foreseen became irrelevant. Sadly, he had yet to find something truly ground-breaking for his problem.

Harry had hoped Albus would have better luck on his side, but he should have known that had been highly optimistic of him to assume he could do it with his eyes closed. Albus Dumbledore was many things: a genius, a powerful and great wizard but even somebody like him couldn't just fix the mess Harry had put himself in as if it was nothing.

No, if Harry wanted a fighting chance to go home as quickly as possible, he'd have to put his weight on it and work his arse off too. Only that or a miracle would do. After all, it wasn't as if they had any expert on time travel on hand.

 _Caution is key when it comes to dealing with the future_ , the author warned. _For Time is a well-known trickster and we must all bow to her. Often those who have tried to cheat her discovered to their greatest horror they were nothing but her puppets to play and discard once their purposes has be fulfilled. The fact we have been granted a vision of what tomorrow might look like does not mean it will necessarily come to pass, nor does it mean we truly understood what it meant the first time._

 _Never assume anything, do not make the folly of believing the future is set or that you know which events will result in the future you seek. Do not underestimate even the seemingly most trivial thing; the devil, after all, is in the details._

The devil…

" _Let's be honest, you need me if you want to survive here. Or even find a way home_."

Harry abruptly closed the book and violently shook his head to chase the image of Voldemort his mind had just conjured, horrified at what he had just considered.

He didn't need his help, he tried to convince himself. He didn't need his help and Albus was right about what his friends would say to him. He could do it, he was going to do it.

Why would the dark wizard -or whatever that vision of him had been- even help him anyway?

But, Harry couldn't help thinking as he was putting the book back on its shelf, if Voldemort was as clever as Professor Dumbledore claimed him to be, then he certainly knew how time travel worked. He had to know more than them at least.

If he could just find out what he knew…

Harry abruptly stilled and shook his head again, forcing himself not to go there.

This was pure madness. This was making a deal with the devil with no guarantee it would actually change anything. No matter how dire the situation may look like in the future, Harry could never allow himself to go there.

It was because he had trusted his visions he got in this mess; what would happen if he made that mistake again?

* * *

When the winter holidays were finally over and everybody was back to school, it seemed like the entire year had woken up and horrifyingly realized they were going to sit their OWLs in a few months. As a result, it wasn't rare for Albus to find himself comforting a housemate who got a bad mark and feared for his future.

"Professor Prince always marks severely," Albus consoled Elphias after class. "A Dreadful from him is as good as an Exceeded Expectations from another professor. Same with Professor O'Connor, really. I have no doubt you will do splendidly for the big day. What truly matters is not to never fail, it is to always try again until you succeed."

Elphias wetly snorted. "Have you ever failed at something, Albus?"

Albus lowly chuckled. "As a matter of fact, I have. Or have you forgotten my duel against Harry?"

No matter how much he wanted to have another duel with the Gryffindor, it seemed like the other wizard didn't share this sentiment. In fact, it often seemed like Harry was doing everything not to have to face him again. Now that he had defeated the best student in class and told everybody Albus wasn't 'that good', it seemed like he had lost any interest in the whole thing.

The one duel he wanted to have in Defence Against the Dark Arts, and he still hadn't got it.

Elphias seemed to read his mind. "I'm sure you'll have get your duel, eventually. That day, you will win."

Albus smiled. "I hope you are right. "

"Professor Merrythought is teaching you duelling privately, isn't she?" he added and Albus couldn't help blinking. "I am sure you are far better now."

He had thought nobody knew. "Professor Merrythought is an excellent duellist, and I like to believe I've progressed," he acknowledged. "However, I am well aware I still have a long way to go."

Professor Merrythought said what he lacked the most was experience. But sometimes he could spot a little sigh when Albus was casting a certain spell, or when he would ask her to teach him a few.

"Less is more," she usually said. "I know you know many curses and counter-jinxes. You certainly know more than I do, in fact. You do not need to learn more, Mister Dumbledore. What you need to do now is to go back to the basics and master them, completely."

So now he had to try to win a duel against Merrythought with only five basic spells. And if he often doubted that was possible, Merrythought seemed to believe it was.

Albus lightly shook his head. "But enough about me, why don't you show me what you did not understand?"

Elphias sighed and opened his satchel. "You must have enough of everybody crying on you," he murmured as he handed him his copy. "I don't know how you do it really."

"I do not mind, really. I rather enjoy it, to be honest. And you are a dear friend so of course I will help you to get these Exceeded Expectations in Potions and Transfiguration."

There were of course other reasons for his willingness to help Elphias and Harry, even Horace, but he supposed they didn't really need to know that.

He read Elphias' copy and hummed. "It looks like you misunderstood Galenus on the matter of a potion's dynameis. Now, if you consider…"

* * *

"Expelliarmus!"

The wand left Aberforth's hand and flew in Harry's direction.

"Is 'Expelliarmus' the only charm you know?" Aberforth grumbled as Harry gave him his wand back.

As promised, Harry was teaching Aberforth a couple of curses for his help with occlumency and was even helping him with his Defence homework. Sometimes however, the younger Dumbledore wasn't satisfied with just leaning spells and the two would head to the Room of Requirement and duel in the room that would one day house the D.A.

"What's so amazing with it anyway? It's only a disarming charm. Not very useful really. What if your life is actually on the line and you're facing something much more powerful than you?"

Harry hesitated. "It actually saved my life," he quietly replied.

Aberforth didn't have anything to say after that. And he didn't make any protest when Harry corrected his wand movement for the impedimenta jinx.

It was quite a relief, to be honest.

The Third Year wasn't stupid at all, Harry even believed he was smarter than him. Aberforth Dumbledore unfortunately was as stubborn as a goat and often refused to listen when others were telling him he was wrong. As a result, it wasn't really surprising that he had problems with class and everybody believed him to be stupid.

When Harry had remarked this flaw to his brother, Albus had sighed and wistfully smiled. "There are very few people Aberforth readily listen to. It happens I am not one of them. He seems to make a point in doing the complete opposite of what I ask him to, in fact."

If Albus Dumbledore himself didn't quite know how to handle his brother, Harry barely stood a chance to convince Aberforth to do as he said. So anything was welcome to make him do it.

"You're a fast learner," he remarked once the Third Year successfully cursed the dummy. "The others took longer to learn that one."

"The D.A., right?" Seeing Harry blinking, he snorted. "Weasley said you told him you were part of a defence group. He thinks the people teaching you were excellent duellists but you were the teacher there, weren't you?"

Harry dazedly blinked. "Y-Yes but how-"

The Third Year shrugged. "It's obvious I'm not the first you teach. Now, the real question is this: what does D.A. stand for?"

When he turned to the older wizard, it was to see the older boy horrifyingly looking at him. Aberforth raised his eyebrows.

"Dumb- Defence Association."

"That took too long to be true." A grin slowly formed on the younger Dumbledore's face. "It's something embarrassing, isn't it? Now what could it be? The Daft Association? The Dark Army?"

Harry spluttered and Aberforth snickered. "Speaking of embarrassing, I should tell you that your butterfly has officially be named Eilir."

Harry spluttered. "Wh-What kind of name is that?"

"Welsh, apparently." Aberforth paused. "It's still alive, isn't it?"

Harry shrugged. "Doesn't fly much these days, but yeah. Still there."

Harry would have thought the butterfly would have kicked the bucket but it was still alive. It rarely left the dormitories these days, probably because it was among the warmest place in Gryffindor tower, but it seemed to survive winter just fine.

When Harry had pointed that out, Albus had hummed and told him it wasn't a particularly normal reaction and he would have expected it to hibernate. And that was in his best case scenario.

"Your brother said I have overpowered my healing spell," he explained. "Given him too much magic. As a result, it is possible that it expanded its life span and changed its biological clock."

When he had heard these words, Harry hadn't helped ticking.

But Aberforth only shrugged. "It's a good thing we picked a name then. If it's there to stay."

"Yeah… Yeah, I suppose you're right." Harry glanced at the dummy on the floor and went to make it stand again. "Now, curse it again."

He didn't have to tell him twice.

* * *

"Alright then, does anybody has any question?" Professor Mesmer asked as he had finished handing the class their last test.

It wasn't without some satisfaction that Harry realized he got a good mark.

Black raised his hand. "You wrote I had 100%," he began once the teacher allowed him to talk, "and yet you wrote I had an A in the margin."

"That I did," he confirmed.

"Why did you give me an Acceptable and not an Outstanding then?"

"Your copy wasn't standing out. The same way, I expected you to answer my questions correctly so you didn't exceed my expectations, did you?"

Black blankly looked at him and Mesmer shrugged.

"In June you will be asked to predict the future of one examiner. And as you know there is no written portion in Divination. Meaning, and it is better for you to understand this now, that pure profanes will judge your skills in fifteen minutes and it will be extremely subjective. It's not as if your skill can be seen, or that your examiner will have concrete proof of your talent. Why, I had to lie for what used to be your Ordinary Wizarding Level to get a passing mark. A little advice: if somebody asks you if he will have a long life, the answer is never 'no'."

He paused for a moment as if considering something and shook his head.

"If you want an Exceed expectations for the big day, your copy is the strict minimum. If you want an Outstanding, you will need to bring more to the table. Something truly special that will set you apart from the rest. You didn't so I couldn't give you an O."

Black looked at his copy and sighed. "Understood, sir."

"It's all about perception, Mister Black," Mesmer sympathetically told him. "Everything is a matter of perception in this world. You can be the best in the room, if the others do not see it they will believe you average. You have foreseen something? Only you can see what you see. How will you read what your tea leaves show when you may potentially have dozen interpretations on hand? And when you've made your choice, how will you present it to the person asking you what his future is going to be like?" He snapped his fingers. "It's these little things that makes one truly great in divination, the Sight can only bring you so far. So if you want your Outstanding and to continue your journey in the troubled waters that is divination, I'm afraid you will have to work on this, Mister Black."

The Slytherin sighed and nodded.

"Now, any more question? No? Then we're back to our lessons and we will begin studying pallomancy, the art of divining by using a pendulum."

Excited whispers began to fill the room and Professor Mesmer's lips curled.

"The pendulum has many uses as I've showed you several times: you can use one for locating magical places and calculate quite accurately its magical resonance, find somebody who went missing, _hypnosis_ … In this class, we will only focus on its use to the art of divination. The pendulums are in the box on the shelf; pick the one that draws you the most and when you have come back to your place."

Harry couldn't help wincing when as he waited for his turn a few students began waving their pendulums in front of a classmate's face and pretending to put them in trance. He stubbornly looked at the back of the one in front of him. When it was his turn he didn't even glance at the content of the box and took the first one he felt.

"Look like somebody is traumatized," Mesmer remarked when he came to his table and saw him pointedly looking at his hands, the pendulum as far from him as possible. "This is not my fault, I hope."

Harry didn't answer.

Professor Mesmer seemed to consider something and slowly shook his head. "It takes skills to use hypnosis on an unsuspecting subject. At your level, none of you can do this. Besides you can break the trance now, can you?"

Harry frowned and suddenly realized why the man had said that. "I haven't given your book back," he horrifyingly realized.

"That you have not," he confirmed. "It's quite fortunate I gave you one of mine and not one from the library or our dear librarian would have been very displeased with me."

"I'll give it back," he promised. "I haven't got it on me right now but..."

"Why don't you hand it to me after class?" he proposed. "After dinner for example. In the meantime, try using the pendulum, or at least study it. It is quite a useful artefact and it would be a pity to ignore it because of a bad first impression."

Harry waited for the man to leave and see the Slytherin side of the class and finally turned his attention on the little pendulum innocently lying on his desk.

At first glance, it seemed to be just a metallic disc at the end of a string and Harry didn't know how different it could be from a muggle one. After a moment of hesitation, he took it in his hand and looked more closely.

The string was silver-like and so thin it seemed to vanish once you let the pendulum swing. As for the metallic disc on its end, one side was filled with very little symbols while the other one seemed to have a spiral engraved.

The spiral moved and Harry startled. Hurriedly, he posed the artefact on the table and shakily breathed, heart racing.

For a moment, Harry could have sworn what he had seen had been a snake.

After throwing the pendulum back to the box after class, Harry pretended none of this had happened for the rest of the day. So it was with some annoyance that he remembered he was supposed to go back to the Divination classroom, if only to hand Professor Mesmer his book back.

After dinner, he entered the classroom once again and handed the wizard his book, thanking him for letting him borrow it.

Professor Mesmer put it on the table behind him. "You made a valid point. When you know the future, you must protect your knowledge. Mind you, occlumency can only get you so far. Do not make the mistake of getting complacent because you've learned some mind art."

Harry couldn't help frowning at that and Mesmer slowly smirked. "People rarely attempt using legimency, Mister Potter. When they want to know something, they always begin by watching you. Like that muggle character, they start analysing every word you say, trying to induce why you acted such way in a peculiar situation. Take Professor Binns for example," he started explaining. "Seeing his ghost coming to teach, everybody should have been shocked. So why was this Potter boy so unfazed?"

Harry blinked as the wizard pretended to think.

"Maybe he's that unaffected, some will say," he mused. "He barely knew him after all. Maybe that's just the way he is, others will try to explain. But when people believe you to be a seer? He must have foreseen it!" He snapped his fingers. "There we go. If we closely watch for his reactions -or lack of it in this instance- we will succeed in getting a glimpse of what he knows. Let's watch his every move and we will know the future."

Harry tensed.

"And then there are those who are actually good at this. Those who know how the Sight work. Hearing your lack of reaction, they will tick for entirely different reasons. After all, Cuthbert Binns is a creature of habit. Any deviation in his routine is unheard of. Meaning that if you were to See his ghost in his classroom you would be utterly unable to tell anybody when your vision took place. Meaning that even in the best cases you should have paused." He shook his head and ignored Harry's white face. "No, close but not quite. From this point there are only two possibilities left."

"One," Mesmer said as he raised a finger, "you killed poor Binns."

"What?"

"Not as unlikely as you probably think," he remarked. "An overeager wizard who wants to prove he is a seer predicts the future and then insures his 'vision' gets fulfilled as to not been discovered a fraud? It happens. It happens quite often, in fact."

"I didn't kill Binns!" Harry shouted in horror.

"But you didn't save him either, did you? When a student comes to tell you he is a seer and has seen a teacher's death, one of the first things he ask you is: can we prevent this? He is not so flippant about using that knowledge to prove you he is the real deal."

Harry helplessly shook his head. "I didn't- How can you-"

"Oh I know you didn't kill him," Mesmer replied. "Do you think I would have let you leave my classroom had I thought you would do it? But you need to understand why these sorts of predictions are very dangerous to make. You cannot say these sort of things without considering how they may be interpreted. Because divination may be popular these days, do you actually believe the Wizengamot will not seriously consider what I've just said?"

"Option two," Mesmer began as he raised another finger, his electric blue eyes intently looking at a very still Harry, "is that you did not react to Professor Binns' ghost because you were following a routine yourself. One where seeing him in unicolour is not only unsurprising but very boring. And that you added he will keep teaching because you personally know this to be true. You did not even consider to save Binns from this fate because it didn't even cross your mind this man could be anything but very dead. So you see, Mister Potter, even if I hadn't known from the beginning you were a 'time-traveller', I would have managed just fine to start considering you are from the future."


	20. Lessons

"Interesting expression, 'time-traveller'," Professor Mesmer mused. "Does it come from that story Wells wrote per any chance?"

Harry was too busy not gapping to answer.

He then nervously smiled. "I-I don't know what you're talking about. Me a- a time-traveller?" He forced himself to laugh. "Wh-Where did you get such idea?"

Mesmer looked pleased. "Good, at least you're not immediately spilling the beans. But, like I said, you've already said too much. When you make a prediction," he began explaining, "you cannot allow yourself to be too precise. An obscure reference passes, an outright affirmation?" He grimaced. "That's where it often gets troublesome because people then ask questions. And you rarely want to answer them."

Harry didn't say anything for a long time. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he insisted.

Mesmer amusedly shook his head. "And you're right of course to keep camping on your position. Still, we are past the point where you can convince me I'm wrong, I'm afraid. As I said, I've had my suspicions from the very beginning and the past months did nothing but confirm them."

Harry warily looked at the seer. "How did you reach such conclusion?" he carefully asked.

Mesmer hummed. "Trying to learn as much as you can about your conundrum, are you? Well then, I suppose there are three possibilities," he told him as he raised a finger and began counting. "Option 1: I am a seer of great power." Ignoring Harry rolling his eyes, he raised a second finger. "Option 2: I am a very clever man. And Option 3: I am a rather talented legimens," he finished as he raised a third one.

Harry paused. "You used legimency on me?" he exclaimed in outrage.

"The correct answer is naturally I am all three," came the swift response. "But if you want to believe this then by my guest. That raises a few contradictions of course but if you want to think this…" He gave a sly smile. "I'm not going to contradict you."

Harry tried not to grit his teeth and attempted to occlude his mind to the best of his abilities.

"Still, that was only an impression at best if you consider this to be the truth. You could be delusional, you could be messing with me, or maybe I've finally lost my marbles. This is mostly why I asked for a second opinion."

Harry's heart fell. "That man at the party."

The older man idly laughed. "Who, Evans? With his profession, he makes a point in never revealing any secret. Unless he really has to and he most certainly did not. No, it wasn't him but that person was present for All Hallow's Eve if that helps."

That's when he knew.

"Trelawney."

Mesmer nodded. "The guild was always meant to come but Trelawney? She's such a Cassandra we never invite her to anything. Still, I needed her Sight so I sent her a message under the pretence I had a vision. She was kind enough to help me have a clearer picture. Now, in case you did not know, Cassandra Trelawney's Sight is what we call _absolute._ She sees past any pretence or disguise, you cannot fool her for she literally looks into your soul. So when Trelawney says something, you better listen to her carefully. It happens one of the many things she told me only confirmed my suspicions."

Harry uncomfortably swallowed.

He had thought he would be safe if he stayed with her and Black. But now that he was thinking about it, it had been extraordinarily stupid. The greatest seer of the nineteenth century, the blind witch who could see the future so clearly... Wasn't she in fact the most dangerous person for a time-traveller to hang with?

"You made many mistakes, Mister Potter. One of them was to underestimate us. The second we laid our eyes on you, we felt something was not right."

Harry suddenly remembered Trelawney fainting as soon as her white eyes had looked in his direction. And there had also been his first divination class. Professor Mesmer, a man always in control in class, had outright screamed and shattered his tea service in front of his uncredulous students when their eyes had met.

" _You, introduce yourself. What are you and why are you here?"_

Not who, Harry numbly realized. What.

"I wonder… Do you happen to know Trelawney or one relative of hers per any chance? Because I must say, you make a very convincing impression of her whenever you play seer and try to divine the future. Which is odd, considering she has never met you before that night."

Harry painfully closed his eyes. "One of her descendants will teach divination here," he finally mumbled, defeated.

Mesmer startled. "What? A Trelawney teaching here?" His eyes roamed the room as if in search of somebody. He then dazedly shook his head. "Poor kids. I can only imagine what you had to go through."

"So you, Trelawney and that Evans know I'm from the future," he stated, tone dead.

But Mesmer hesitated. "As I said, Trelawney's Sight is absolute. How she interprets her visions now…" He grimaced. "That's where she usually makes a mistake. She can get too precise, or speaks in metaphors. Sometimes she even does both at the same time. In this instance, I would say she has no idea. This is quite far-fetched after all and she does not have the information you unknowingly gave me. I doubt other seers can even _think_ you're from a distant future. As for Evans… While he is clever and extremely good at what he does, I wouldn't be so sure he knows exactly." He shrugged. "Maybe he does, maybe he doesn't."

He should be panicking, Harry knew. Somebody knowing he didn't belong in that time, Harry knew that was catastrophic. He didn't know exactly why and, frankly, he had done his best not to think about it, but he knew that was bad. It was bad and he had to find a way to fix this.

Harry carefully looked at the smiling seer, trying to find a way out of this mess.

Except he couldn't find any. He mentally tried to find a mean to force his silence but ultimately came empty-handed.

"What do you want?"

"A raise, mostly. I know I'm not the least paid professor here, there's a reason why I do other things than teaching. The revival of my favourite character would be nice too," he mused. Seeing Harry glaring, he rolled his eyes. "What can you possibly give me, Mister Potter? Have you even got a knut on you?"

Harry spluttered. "W-Well… I'm from-"

"Yes, you're from the future," Mesmer impatiently finished. "But when exactly are you from?" After a moment of hesitation, Harry answered. "Then I'm afraid to tell you I'm not interested. Odds are I will be very dead when that knowledge you have will be relevant."

Harry drew back. "I thought that-"

"-everybody would rush to learn what the future is going to be like? Try to make you spill your secrets by any mean? You're absolutely right. That's often what happens when somebody is discovered to be a seer. This is the main reason why a seer learns quite early to keep his mouth shut on certain matters and play dumb. But to a seer like me? You're one future, far, far away. It would be folly of me to ignore all the potential futures ahead just because you're here. And, really, do you truly know how that time you're from came to be?"

Harry couldn't help a grimace at that question.

The expression on his face softened. "You've showed me you are aware of the similarities between the problems a seer have to face and yours. Well, let me tell you this: a seer's biggest flaw is how blind he can be on certain matters. How easily he can make erroneous assumptions based on incomplete information and how terrible the consequences can be. I admit I am curious, but finding what you know isn't worth it for the time being. You're lucky, Mister Potter. You're very lucky I'm actually good at what I do. Very few would be sensible enough not to pry."

Harry was speechless.

When the older wizard had said he knew he was from the future, he had thought it was game over. Already he had been trying to find a way to buy his silence, panicking at what the man who has had _months_ to find out everything Harry knew was going to do with that knowledge.

It hadn't even crossed his mind the man wouldn't be that interested.

"Why are you telling me all this?" Harry finally dared to ask.

"Considering how well you're blending in, I'm assuming you coming in our dear ninteenth century was a complete accident."

Harry sweat-dropped.

"I may out of my depth, I _am_ spending my entire life studying time. And even without my third eye, I can see clearly you need some help. A little preying there and there also informed me a lot of things are at stakes."

The man took a long pause for a moment, as if considering something important.

But he never said anything.

After a moment of hesitation, Harry informed the wizard he had been studying divination in order to find a way back to his time.

The seer couldn't help laughing. "Divination may be the most occult magical art, you're diving even deeper than all of us." He closed his eyes and took a thoughtful pause. "Your idea has some merit though. You may be unto something there. When did you exactly came here by the way?" Harry shrugged and after answering the question the seer began musing. "The first of September, you say..."

He then shook his head. "Nonetheless, there is the matter of you being here, today. _That_ is the most important thing for the time being." Sensing Harry was about to protest, his electric blue eyes intently looked at the time-traveller. "You may know the future, you are living in the present, Mister Potter. And you will not reach tomorrow if you do not walk today."

Harry bit his tongue.

After a few deep breaths, the Gryffindor began explaining himself. "I thought I could pretend to be a seer. That way if I let something slip..."

Mesmer's lips twiched. "I noticed. But I'm afraid to tell you, being -or pretending to be- a seer isn't as easy as many believe it to be. If you want to pass for one, if you want to survive in that time, you need to know a few ground rules."

It was only then that Harry realized what the man was implying. And Harry couldn't help feeling like some enormous weight had suddenly been lifted. If what the man was proposing what he was thinking, it would be truly amazing.

It even seemed too good to be true.

The time-traveller carefully looked at the seer. "You want to help me," he stated. "Why?"

For a moment, the seer said nothing and just looked at him.

Finally, he grinned.

"Who knows? Maybe the Higher Being sent me a vision of me helping you and I am only following her wishes."

Harry facepalmed under the other wizard's laughs.

* * *

Rule number one of being a seer: lie as little as possible.

Lying implies you have something to hide. And if somebody knows you lied, he will face you with distrust and try to find out why.

That did not mean a seer never lied, Professor Mesmer had remarked. It just meant they could wield the truth so well they very often did not have to. So what if the audience misunderstood or thought they were frauds? It was not their problem.

That, Harry couldn't help thinking as he sat in Defence Against the Dark Arts the next day, was extremely manipulative.

When he had pointed that out, the seer hadn't helped raising an eyebrow. " _Do you actually believe you can just say something and it will be well recieved because it is true? That somebody who does not like what you tell him will not lash out and go after you? The truth is a dangerous weapon, Mister Potter._ _And it must be used with great caution."_

Remembering Fudge and Umbridge, Harry had no choice but to admit Mesmer had a point there.

"Good morning class," Professor Merrythought greeted the class once everybody was seated. "Now, I have corrected your copies from last week." She opened her satchel and retrieved last week's test. "As a general rule, I must say I am quite satisfied with what you wrote on the shield charm and other magical protections. I'll give your copies after class and if you have questions on your essay feel free to ask me then." She left her desk and walked to the blackboard. "That being said, we will begin a new chapter, perhaps the most important for you this year."

Taking her chalk she wrote three words and Harry's heart stopped.

 _The Unforgiveable Curses_.

"I am sure you have heard of them before," she started, "but there is bound to be a question on them for your Ordinary Wizarding Levels. For this reason, we will be quite thorough on the matter. Now, can any of you say what the Unforgiveable curses are?"

Seeing a few hands raised she pointed a finger in Slytherin's direction. "Mister Black."

"The Unforgiveable curses are three curses that were deemed so dangerous it had been decided to condemn their mere uses with the an automatic sentence to Azkaban."

"Correct. While there has been many attempts to either remove one curse or add others, that list has not moved in four hundred years and I doubt it will in the near future. Now, can anybody gives me the name of these curses?"

A few hands rose. Professor Merrythought looked around the classroom and finalled pointed to Horace.

"There is the imperius curse, I think."

"You think?"

With more confidence, the Slytherin repeated, "The imperium, ma'am. A curse used to bend a person to your will."

"Correct. Five points to Slytherin." Writing what had just been said, she added, "While it is true there are other curses who can more or less allow somebody to force an unsuspecting victim to do as they are told, the imperius curse is known to be neigh impossible to break. Does anybody know why? Or maybe make an educated guess?"

This time very few hands were raised. In fact, there was only Albus'.

"Mister Dumbledore."

"Some recollections from a few victims seems to indicate being under the imperium happens to be quite a pleasant experience."

 _It had been the most wonderful feeling. All worry in his head gently wiped away as a vague, untraceable happiness overwhelmed him..._

"As a general rule, we tend to follow one's lead. Our most basic instinct is to follow the rules, to do as we are told. The imperium was constructed in such way we go back to our most basic instincts: looking for easy happiness and the need of doing as we are told."

Who would be mad enough to fight that inner peace Harry had never quite managed to get back?

"Excellent. Ten points to Gryffindor. The imperius curse is very insidious on this regard. You are still in control of your body. You just… do not particularily care about what you are doing with it. The caster has no hold over your body, it is not being violated. It is your mind itself that is being attacked. You do not feel the horror of watching your hand grab the dagger to stab your spouse, you are in fact feeling quite content and it is only when you are released from the curse that you can truly understand what you have done. The victim now can break the curse but it almost never happens. After all it takes..." She grimaced. "Let's just say a person able to break the imperius curse must have quite a strong personality and a inner disregard at following the rules."

Harry snorted.

Professor Merrythought quickly glanced in his direction.

She then turned her attention back to the class. "Now, we have seen the imperium. Can anybody give me another Unforgiveable?"

Elphias slowly raised his hand. "The Cruciatus, ma'am," he stated when she allowed him to talk. "The… the torture curse."

Professor Merrythought nodded as she wrote the name of the curse. "Many curses can be used to cause pain. I once had to deal with a dark wizard whose favourite curse to cause harm was aguamenti." The class frowned and she sighed. "I admit, I was skeptical as well at the beginning but..." She sighed again. "Water torture _does_ exist and can be extremely effective when the torturer knows what he is doing."

She paused a moment. "Torture can take different forms: loss of limbs, dripping water, manipulation, complete isolation... Many attempted to recognize these dark curses as unforgivable but that is just not possible to put all of them. _Anything_ can cause unimaginable pain, it is the torturer's twisted mind that turns even the most beautiful things into horrors."

She turned to the dead silent class. "So why this curse?" she asked. "Why does the cruciatus get a preferential treatment?"

The students uncomfortably looked at each other.

 _Very_ slowly, Black raised his hand. When Professor allowed him to talk, he coughed.

"You said anything can be used to torture somebody," he slowly began. Seeing her nodding, he inhaled. "That any usually innocent spell can cause harm. But the reverse can also be true, can it not? You can... You can use very dark magic for good reasons."

She smiled. "Excellent. Ten points to Slytherin."

Black sharply exhaled.

"Yes, even the foulest flesh-eating curse can be used for good," Professor Merrythought explained. "Very, _very_ few spells are inherently good or bad and the dichotomy between light and dark magic is grossly exaggerated. Doesn't mean it doesn't exist of course, but it is not the magic that make a wizard dark. It is _why_ and _how_ he uses it that reveals a man's true nature. So a wizard is using a curse that notoriously cuts off limbs? He can be a dangerous wizard, but he can also be a healer. Somebody who knows the leg is lost and a clean cut is the only thing that is going to save his patient. A spell doesn't mean anything in itself and we must have the facts to have a clear picture. For these reasons, some curses can in the right circumstances be explained and their use is not in itself 'unforgivable'."

"This however?" Her chalk hit the word 'Cruciatus'. "Causing pain is all it does. Nothing is harmed, nothing is removed or added, it is pain for the sake of pain. That's all it can ever do and the caster must truly relish in causing harm. The cruciatus may cause cause extreme pain, it is after all the most painful curse in existence-"

 _Voldemort smiling over his body as Harry was convulsing. That pain, so all-consuming he no longer knew where he was. White-hot knives piercing every inch of his skin, his head so surely going to burst…_

"-that's all it can ever do," she finished after glancing at him. "Once the curse is lifted, that person is unharmed and can go on with their life, as if nothing happened."

"There are some side effects of course," she conceded. "The victim often has nightmares, can feel phantom pain or even become unattuned to it in some rare cases. Still, nobody who went under the cruciatus has ever received external injury and somebody who has been under the cruciatus can very well take his wand right after the curse has been lifted and fight as if nothing's happened. Nobody who suffered the cruciatus ever needed to go to St Mungo and if their memories are wiped they may never know what happened to them."

 _Neville's parents on their beds as Mrs Longbottom told Ron and Hermione why they were here. Alice Longbottom handing candy wrappers to a son she could never recognize..._

Harry could do nothing but uncomprehendingly look at Professor Merrythought who after pensively looking at him was answering a Slytherin's question. How could that woman outright skip the Longbottoms' fate?

Maybe because it hasn't happened yet, he numbly realized. And maybe Bellatrix Lestrange had actually done the impossible when she and Crouch had used that curse on Neville's parents.

"Some may think it is a clean way to torture somebody. But if it is the cleanest, it is also the most effective and the most painful and the one that causes the most mirth to the caster. For this reason, the Cruciatus is an Unforgiveable."

"Now, the third one," Harry distantly heard as if he was underwater, "we have briefly mentionned it during our first lesson. Can anybody give us his name?"

This time almost all the class raised their hand.

But Professor Merrythought was only looking at Harry. "Mister Potter."

Harry startled and numbly looked at the Defence Professor's impassive face.

"Mister Potter, what is the third Unforgiveable?"

"The third Unforgiveable?"

"Yes."

Harry forced himself to focus. "Th-The killing curse." Feeling he needed to say more, he deeply inhaled. "Avada Kedavra, green beam. And… and if it hits you, you die."

"Correct. Now, I must stress this, if it only takes some imagination to torture somebody, killing takes even less. In the right hands, even the hoover charm is enough to kill a man. Such arguments are often raised to explain why some consider the Killing Curse should not be classified as an Unforgiveable. That and euthanasia. So why is it still on the list? Why is the killing curse the _first_ Unforgiveable, Mister Potter?"

Harry dully looked at her, trying to figure out why she was asking him this.

When he did, he couldn't stop a bitter smile.

"Because you cannot block it."

She nodded. "Five points to Gryffindor. Any idea why that is?" Harry blinked, shook his head and she answered her own question. "That is because the Killing Curse is not _just_ a spell."

Seeing Harry frowing she sadly smiled. "So there _is_ something you don't know."

She turned back to the blackboard and began writing. "Yes, the Killing curse, like some other charms such as the Cruciatus or the Patronus, is not _just_ energy. More than that, you are summoning a concept."

Next to him, Albus was furiously writing down everything that was being said.

"This is why these spells are so difficult to cast: they are _more_ than magic, they are _the very concept_ given for a moment physical form. And you just _cannot_ stop death. Not even the strongest spell, the strongest shield charm on earth can protect you from death itself. And when it hits you..." She snapped her fingers. "It's over. You're dead before your body even reaches the ground."

"Cannot physical objects block the curse?" Albus asked, hand raised and nose still on his notes.

"This is the only way to stop the spell from reaching you. Still, I must stress this: the second the curse is cast, _something_ is going to die. Whatever gets hit will die, or shatter. So it does not really block the curse, you're just sacrificing something else."

Albus nodded, hands writing down her words. "And there cannot be _anything_ able to stop the killing curse itself?"

"As I said, you are summoning the essence of Death. _No power_ in the universe is stronger than death, Mister Dumbledore. So, no. If somebody gets hit by the Killing curse, that person will _always_ die. Many fools have tried to create some protection able to stop the Unforgiveable, but that is just not possible. And I seriously doubt any of us will one day meet a person who will say 'I survived the Killing Curse' and who will not be lying."

* * *

"Fascinating," Albus breathed after class. "Utterly fascinating, don't you think, Harry?"

Harry imperceptibly shrugged.

"I knew some spells were more than magic but can you imagine? The Killing curse bringing forth the essence of death itself? I've never considered it this way, have you?"

Harry grimaced. "No but… I can't really say I'm surprised."

"I suppose it does explain why shield charms are so utterly ineffective. They are only magic given a specific shape but _maybe_. Maybe if one were to use a spell, or another form of magic, that _also_ brings forth another concept, wouldn't it be able to block it?"

"It cannot be any concept though," Albus started thinking out loud, not noticing Harry was dead silent. "I admit Professor Merrythought is right on the subject: nothing is stronger than death."

It was after all the one true fact in the universe. Everything died and it was pure folly to even attempt to cheat the reaper. Even the world they were living on would one day perish.

Could death die? he suddenly wondered. What if, like a diamond, the _one_ thing that could defeat death was death himself?

Albus interrupted his musings when he heard in an hesitant voice, "Maybe love is."

Albus burst to laugh.

He abruptily stopped when he saw Harry's stunned face.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry," he hurried. "It's just- While I do agree love is a great power, we _are_ talking about death here."

There were of course muggle stories proning about the strength of love and it vanquishing death but unlike his youngest sibling, he prefered wizarding tales such as Beedle the bard's. Stories written by people who at least knew what magic was and what it could actually do.

It certainly was not love that shielded the third brother after all.

"I am not saying this wouldn't be very beautiful," he amended. "The idea that love can defat death and save the day is rather romantic after all but..." He gave a contrite smile. "These sort of things only happen in muggle love stories or fairytales. Even love fades, eventually. People fall out of love quite often after all. And if love can die, it cannot be stronger than death and defeat it, can it?"

Harry instead of agreeing or attempting to disprove his point, numbly looked at Albus, as if he was now seeing the wizard in a whole new light.

And Albus might have no idea why, but he got the feeling that, somehow, he's just given him the wrong answer.

He quickly opened his satchel, pretending he needed to see which class they needed to go now, and actively avoided looking at him during the whole walk to Herbology.

He wasn't sure why, but the idea of seeing Harry looking at Albus with something akin to disappointment made him feel really small.

* * *

This was not Professor Dumbledore, Harry mentally repeated once again in his bed.

He had thought he had managed to get this point but it was only when Albus had outright laughed at him that he had realized just how far the man still had to go.

Albus Dumbledore proning the strength and power of love, he had thought that was something inherent in the man. Something he's always believed in and always would.

Apparently not.

He had briefly considered telling him about his mother shouting 'Not Harry, please not Harry. Kill me instead', about the protection she's put on him and him being known as the Boy-Who-Lived. About how Harry was the living proof he was wrong but…

But…

If Harry were to tell the fifteen years old Albus Dumbledore about the night his parents died, wouldn't that mean Professor Dumbledore knew and yet did nothing to save them?

And if he knew and did nothing, wouldn't it be because Harry had told him this was going to happen and he couldn't change it because paradoxes and so on? Wouldn't Harry in some way be making some sort of self-fulfilling prophecy and be responsible for his parents' death?

Rule number 2 of being a seer: it befalls on you to keep some hard truths secret, no matter what others might say.

Meaning Harry had to keep his mouth shut.

Harry had to admit he had been at first surprised by how little Albus was talking about him being a time-traveller. If he didn't know better, he'd even say the prefect had no idea. But it was clear now that Albus, like Mesmer, had decided to not let the future -Harry's past- give him a biased opinion and he wanted not to be spoiled.

Still, for a few horrible seconds, despite being from the future, Harry had felt like he didn't know Albus Dumbledore at all.

* * *

"Alright," Professor Mesmer said as he started their first real individual lesson the next day, "that thing basically summarizes your situation."

Except the blackboard was blank.

Seeing Harry's face he turned his attention to the blackboard. "I haven't drawn it yet, have I?"

"No."

Mesmer sighed and summoned his chalk. He then started drawing a vertical arrow and a stick figure walking on it. "Very well, this is how the common people considers time. Bottom is the past, top is the future, and you can only go in one direction." He drew another stick figure with glasses and then a curved arrow starting at the top and reaching the bottom. "Now this is you. Are you following me so far?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now this how your situation really is."

He then drew several question marks along the straight line.

"Are you good at history, Mister Potter?" Seeing Harry grimacing, he shook his head. "Then you must understand you have no real idea how your world came to be."

"I know some-"

" _Some_ things. You are working without having a complete picture. And, I cannot stress this enough, what will be true for you tomorrow may be completely false today. The same way, an event a seer may have foreseen can be part of a routine or an isolated occurance. This is why a seer always needs context."

He wrote 'CONTEXT' and underlined it thrice.

"A seer only gets a glimpse most of the time. We often do not act on what we see because we do not understand what our vision means. As this muggle character so wisely said, is always dangerous to reason from insufficient data. And you said it yourself, you do not have all the data; for this reason you mustn't rely too much on what you believe to know."

Harry looked at the blackboard for a few seconds and sharply nodded.

It wasn't unlike what Professor Merrythought had said. A spell in itself rarely told the story of what happened. A vision or incomplete knowledge from future even less.

Remembering the Unforgiveables and Merrythought's comments on the Cruciatus, he couldn't help asking: "Can some things always remain the same, no matter what?"

"Yes. Well," he amended, "we do not _actually_ have a non-subjective viewpoint to affirm this as clearly as some other things, but it is a rather strong guess on our part. Some people are always going to die no matter what. You saved one from drowning? He is run over by a horse ten minutes later. We cannot distinguish these fixed moments from other visions however so that makes it neigh impossible to recognize them. When we do, it's often because somebody has tried to stop a specific outcome from happening and utterly failed."

"But these moments are exceedingly rare," Mesmer warned. "So do not start assuming this means your time is fixed because you would be strongly mistaken." Harry slowly nodded. "Time is a cruel mistress, Mister Potter. And foreseeing paradoxally means you are dealing with the occult. We barely have any visibility there and you even less than the worst seer in existence."

Seeing Harry was about to protest, Mesmer's electric blue eyes intently looked at him.

"There is an uncommensurable number of possibilities," he gravelly stated. "One when you turn left instead of right, one for each lottery winning combination, one when your neighbour does not go to work one day. An addition of so many choices leading to one path. When you are at the beginning of the chain of causuality you must take _everything_ into account, absolutely everything. You went to buy pastries for a very hurt girl. What will this small act of kindness change? Was it really that insignifiant? It certainly was for you, but was it really for her? Maybe you've just redefined her entire existence and you will never know. Maybe even she will not fully understand her whole fate turned that exact instant she saw you coming back with a lemon cake. In that infinity of potential futures ahead, you only know _one_ path. And you have an incomplete understanding of it at best. As far as you know, it may even be too late for your time to exist."

Seeing Harry tensing, he softened. "Maybe it will, maybe it will not. Time tends to work in very mysterious ways after all. But it is time for you to stop assuming you have some huge advantage and can be in complete control of your fate. So my advices to you are these: make sure nobody realizes you know more than you should for your own safety, see the present for what it really is instead of how you think it should be. And, more than anything, do not make the choices you think you must do because of your situation and only make those you can learn to live with."


	21. Betrayal

"This needs to stop."

Albus didn't even bother raising his head from his book. "What needs to stop?"

"This!" Aberforth exclaimed as he pointed in the stands the Quidditch pitch. "Stop coming to our trainings, Albus!"

Ever since the beginning of the Quidditch season, the prefect would come with a book and peacefully read in the stands while Gryffindor team would train. So far, he had yet to miss a single training session.

Albus started humming. "I seemed to be under the impression I was not bothering you and was even -dare I say it?- welcome here."

Aberforth glared.

"Now, I _could_ be mistaken, I admit. I suppose I should clear that misunderstanding with your captain when she comes back and profusely apologize to her if you happen to be right. I had come to believe she did not mind my presence, you understand."

Of course she didn't mind it, Aberforth furiously thought. Boothby, like many witches here, was quite taken by his brother and liked to believe that, if she played her cards right, she could manage to snatch his heart.

Which was ridiculous because Albus did not have one.

"I know what you're doing," he hissed. "I'm onto you, Albus!"

His brother turned a page. "Are you now? And here I was thinking I was here to encourage my little brother and support our Quidditch team. Is that so wrong of me to wish you luck?"

"Oh I wouldn't mind if that was the reason why you were here. I'd even be happy, surprisingly. But you're not here to encourage us, are you. You're here to get an eyeful of the boys!"

The book fell.

Bullseye.

"W-What?" Albus spluttered, his cheeks rapidly turning crimson "Ho-How could you- How can you say such thing? A-As if I would _ever_ -"

"Well, it cannot be the girls, can it? Pallas scares you and you barely look at Boothby. If it's not the girls..."

"Doesn't mean anything!" he snapped as he picked up _The Picture of Dorian Gray_. Hugging the book like a child would a toy he added, "And anyway! Is it wrong of me to spend time outside and enjoy the vie- I mean, good sportsmanship? It is not a crime as far as I'm concerned to enjoy Quidditch! Were you not the one saying I was spending too much time indoor? Here I am trying to spend more time with you and be a good brother and _now_ you think I have my own reasons to do this and am in fact using you as my cover story?"

"Well… Aren't you?"

Albus spluttered and Aberforth allowed himself to enjoy this moment and relish in his brother's embarrassment.

It was not every day he had the upper hand after all.

He might even get something out of this entire situation if he played his cards right, he suddenly realized.

He smirked. "I wonder what _my_ teammates would think if they were to learn your _true_ intention." He pretended to think about it. " _The great Albus Dumbledore_ , swooning over them like some muggle girl. Doesn't really fit with that image you're selling, does it?"

But Albus seemed to have recovered. And soon, deep blue eyes so like his own gave the Quidditch player a calculating look.

"I am sorry you feel this way, Aberforth," his brother slowly began and Aberforth couldn't stop a snort. "I _do_ want to spend more time with you."

"To ogle my teammates."

Albus ignored the interruption, though some pink on his cheeks remained. "And I regret giving you the impression I would necessarily have ulterior motives. Is it really that queer of me to enjoy some well-deserved rest and watch you bonding with others?"

"Yes."

He flinched. After a moment's pause he sighed. "You are mistaken but I suppose your mind is set on the matter."

"'Fraid so. And I'm going to tell _everybody_. I am going to tell everybody _unless_ -"

"Ah." His lips curled. "I should have known there was some ulterior motives behind this confrontation. Well then, I have nothing to hide but do name your price."

"You will not nag me into doing my homework _ever again_."

Albus idly laughed. "You do realize nobody is going to believe you, don't you Aberforth? I am willing to humour you but there is so much I am willing to concede.

Aberforth scowled and Albus smiled.

"This school year is doable, but I do not recommend pushing it."

"It's _March_."

"Meaning you have four months of relative peace. No matter how bad your grades get I will not nag you. It will be quite relaxing for both of us, I do believe."

It would be, Aberforth couldn't help agreeing. If his marks in Defence and Charms were quite good, Transfiguration's and Potion's only got worse and Albus seemed to have decided he had to fix this matter at all cost.

Albus extended his hand. "So? Do we have a deal?"

Aberforth thought about it a moment. "Give me your watch and we do."

"Deal."

The two wizards shook hands and blue sparks left their palms.

"Try not to break that one too, will you?" Albus asked as he retrieved from his pocket the copper watch. "I will leave you in peace for the remaining year. That does not mean however you shouldn't try to get better in class."

"Yeah, yeah," he mumbled before taking the watch and pocketing it.

"Now, I hope you will keep your end of the bargain."

Considering the vow they've just made, they both knew he would.

Albus brightly smiled. "Pleasure to make business with you, Aberforth."

That being said, Albus left the stands whistling and headed to the group of players leaving the pitch.

It was only then Aberforth realized Albus had never _once_ promised he was going to stop coming and ogling the team.

When Albus heard his brother's scream, he couldn't stop a low chuckle.

* * *

"What's wrong with your brother?" Harry asked as he spotted Aberforth glaring from his armchair.

Albus' lips twitched. "Don't worry too much about it. He'll get over it eventually. Hopefully."

Harry raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

The prefect handed him his essay. "I do not see any glaring mistake. The second part is a little weak however so I believe you will either get an A and an E depending on Professor O'Connor's mood if you do not correct that."

Harry shrugged and thanked the prefect as he put the essay in his bag.

If Harry had managed to handle class before, the approach of their OWLs seemed to have pushed their teachers into giving them more homework. O'Connor for example had asked for them to write an essay on the switching charm and Harry had to admit he hadn't studied that peculiar charm with McGonagall.

His days in other words were not as free as they used to be. Adding to that his Quidditch training and Mesmer's lessons, Harry couldn't rest and search for a mean to go back to the future as freely as before.

The only good thing about this situation was that now that he was actually struggling with his workload the prefect had taken upon himself to help him with his homework.

It took Harry a moment to realize the prefect was looking at him with something akin to disappointment.

"Something wrong?"

Albus left out a little sigh. "While I did say you will either get an Acceptable or an Exceed Expectations, it is highly likely Professor O'Connor will lean toward Acceptable."

"Oh, okay."

Albus blankly looked at him and Harry fidgeted.

"I suppose I should warn you," he slowly began, "none of the professors at Hogwarts accept in their class a student who did not get Exceeded Expectations _at the very least_. I admit I do not know what profession you would like to pursue after school but I do not think you can afford not to consider your future."

Harry flinched.

His expression softened. "You are a good student, Harry. But that doesn't mean you should be complacent and not try to better yourself and get the most of your time as a student here. What do you want to do when you leave Hogwarts?" he asked him.

"I was thinking of becoming an Auror," he murmured.

Albus seemed to think about it. "From what I heard, they only take the very best. You will need to have five passing marks above Acceptable for your Nastily Exhausting Tests _at the very least_. And I do believe transfiguration is an important part of the Auror's curriculum. There is little doubt you can do it," he reassured him with a smile. "You are more than able to become a very competent Auror. But for that, you need to give your very best starting today."

Harry heavily sighed and took his essay back. "Got it."

Albus pulled his chair to get closer. "You are being too quick when you state switching the two items does not mean they are being transfigured into each other," he explained. "You need to explain how you have reached this conclusion. Now-"

And Harry had thought Hermione was bad.

* * *

He got an Outstanding.

Harry didn't feel like he had actually said more but it seemed pretending you were some transfiguration genius and using very pompous words was the way to go. That and explaining everything as if the one reading the copy was very dumb without letting the corrector see he was.

Or, as Professor Mesmer usually said, it was all about appearances.

Harry sighed and put the copy in his bag, wondering if he would be able to use his marks from the nineteenth century if his OWL results were better than these from his time.

Because he had to face the truth: he was going to sit for these bloody OWLs. Mesmer, for how helpful he was, was more focused on helping him to blend him and explaining what he could and could not do than finding with him a way to travel to the future. Furthermore, with the growing workload and Albus being a real mother hen with his housemates and pushing them into doing their best in class, he had trouble these days to find time to research time travel.

His only hope to go home in other words currently relied on Albus having better luck on his side.

Harry sighed.

He knew Albus would have told him if he's had a breakthrough but he needed the reassurance what they have been doing hadn't been in vain. That, somehow, one of them _at the very least_ had a real lead. His work on divination might have been good for his marks, it had yet to give him a some beginning of an idea on how to go home.

All it did was to 'inform' him of he would soon discover some betrayal.

Harry checked his timetable and noticed he had a free period. Remembering it should be the same with Albus he deeply inhaled and decided to ask once more what he had found out.

He looked around him and noticed the Gryffindor was already gone. Feeling he was heading to the library, he started walking there, well-decided to put down his meagre notes and compare them with his.

When he saw the prefect about to enter, he shouted out his name.

Albus turned his head. "Yes?"

"I know what we said but can you please tell me how you are faring with the ti-"

A hand fell on his shoulder.

Harry startled.

"My apologies," Professor Mesmer told the prefect with a smile, his hand holding Harry so tightly it hurt, "I need to borrow Mister Potter here for a moment."

And before Harry could say anything, Mesmer dragged him away.

"I do not recommend telling Mister Dumbledore about your situation," he said once they were in an empty corridor.

Harry finally freed himself and glared at the seer who only raised an eyebrow.

"What was that for?" he spat.

"You were about to tell him. I thought it was obvious but clearly not: this is not a good idea."

Before Harry could say anything, he began heading to the Divination Tower, making a gesture for Harry to follow him.

Glaring at the wizard for a moment, he finally followed him.

It was only when he closed the door of his office that Mesmer talked again.

"What did I tell you, Mister Potter? The less people know you are not from this century, the better. Do you know what happens to seers who are found out to be the real deal by the wrong people? Let me tell you: it is never pretty."

"But-"

"In your situation this is even truer. If somebody in the Ministry were to discover what you are, _every magical government_ will go after you."

Harry opened his mouth to protest this point but Mesmer's electric blue eyes stared at him, as if daring him to just try.

"What do you think is going to happen if you are found out? Tell me."

"Well the Department of Mysteries-"

"These scientists?" Mesmer snorted. "They're nosy, I give you that, but it is always of politicians you should be wary. Because these people? They like divination _a lot_. They always want to know whether their policy will be accepted or not, what their political opponent is planning to do and so on. They always seek an advantage to stay in power just a little longer."

"Yes but-"

"A time traveller," he interrupted, "that has to be even better than a seer of Trelawney's caliber for them. Considering you legally do not exist, it would be very easy for one them to snatch you, drug you on veritaserum and make you spill what little you know about the future. And you would be stuck in the middle of a bitter and usually silent war between ministry employees or even magical races. As for what these people will do with that second-hand knowledge, it is better not to think about it. The results could be _catastrophic_."

Harry grimaced. "I don't see how Albus knowing-"

"Oh, you don't? Do you _honestly_ believe an ambitious boy like Mr. Dumbledore will not be a tiny bit curious and use your situation to his advantage?"

"He's not that kind of man!" Harry snapped.

"And how would you know?"

"Because ever since I've told him, he hasn't asked me anything!" he exclaimed.

Mesmer suddenly stilled and Harry couldn't help feeling some vindictive pleasure at having caught him off guard.

The idea that anybody could even _consider_ Albus Dumbledore would use his desperate situation for his own gain disgusted him. It didn't matter if the seer wanted to help, he wasn't going to let the man badmouth him.

"Has he now?" the seer carefully asked.

"He's even promised to help me _months ago_. He's known," he added, "from the _very beginning_. And he has not once tried to find out what I know."

But Mesmer didn't seem to listen. Eyes closed and a hand on his chin, he seemed to be deep in thought, as if he was trying to solve some very complicated problem.

He suddenly grimaced. "When did you tell him, exactly?"

Harry frowned. "I don't see-"

"Answer me. You didn't happen to tell him you were from the future on the ninth of September, did you?"

"How am I supposed to remember?" he exclaimed before dazedly shaking his head. "Look, I get that I cannot let anybody know I'm a time-traveller but I know him in the future. I trust him because I know what kind of man he is. And _I know_ he wants to help me go home. He does not- He does not some kind of hidden agenda there. I can trust him."

Mesmer gave Harry an unreadable look that somehow made him feel very uneasy.

"I hope for your own sake that you're right and I'm wrong, Mister Potter. I really do."

* * *

When Harry entered the Common Room, that feeling of unease he's felt ever since that conversation with Mesmer was still there.

He knew the seer was wrong but _something_ in the man's demeanor had made him restless.

Seeing Albus helping the First Years, he walked in his direction and grabbed him by the shoulder.

"Can we talk?"

Albus startled and looked at the First Years. "Can it wait a moment? I was explaining them how-"

"No."

Something in his expression must have given something away because Albus quickly excused himself and let Harry drag him to an isolated area in the Common Room.

"Is everything alright, Harry?"

"What? Oh yes. He ran a hand through his hair. "Yes, yes, everything's fine. Look, I know what you've said last time but how is our research going on your end?"

Albus blinked. "My research?"

"Yes, your research," the time-traveller impatiently answered. "It's not going very far for me but I- I need to know. Have you- Have you made any progress?"

Albus dazedly blinked and tilted his head. "Yes, but I don't see why-"

"Good. What have you got?"

Albus gave him a puzzled look.

"Are you quite alright?"

" _Albus, please_. Just tell me what you've got."

Albus was now looking at him as if he had quite lost it but thankfully executed himself.

Except instead of telling him about some very complex magical concepts related to time, Albus was talking about some bloody potion supposed to work as an alternative to bezoars he was currently calling 'Panacea'.

That's when he knew.

" _You forgot_!"

* * *

" _You forgot_!"

Albus couldn't stop himself from startling at the scream.

Nearby, a few students turned their heads in their direction.

"I'm sorry? What did I-"

"How can you forget something like _that_?" he exclaimed. "How is that even possible?"

"What did I forget now?"

"I asked you to help me. I asked you to help me with my problem and you said you were going to work on it! Ho-How can you, _possibly_ , forget that I- that I-"

The Gryffindor spluttered and Albus couldn't stop a wince.

He wished he could defend himself but, the truth was, it wasn't be the first time he was confronted to this situation.

And no matter how much he hated to let somebody down and swore to himself it would never happen again it somehow always did.

"When did you ask me if I may?" he carefully tried.

" _September_!"

Albus winced. "I'm terribly sorry, Harry. I truly am."

Hoping he could somehow fix this he carefully asked, "Was your problem in some way time sensitive?"

Harry slammed the door on his way out.

Apparently yes.

* * *

Mesmer didn't even ask him why he came to his office. He only asked him how he liked his tea and checked his cabinet for tea leaves.

"If there is one thing I can give here, it's tea," he had remarked.

Once the man handed him a teacup, Harry finally told him Albus had entirely forgotten he was a time-traveller.

"How did you know it was the ninth of September?"

Because the seer was most certainly right: Harry must have told him that day. He didn't remember exactly but he remembered it had been more or less during the second week.

The man took a sip. "Does it really matter how I knew? More than that, do you _actually_ want to know how I reached this conclusion?"

Harry looked at his teacup. "I suppose not," he murmured.

He didn't give a damn what strange power Mesmer had used to suspect Albus' amnesia, it wouldn't change the fact the Gryffindor had never been in the known and had never been watching his back.

Dumbledore had given him hope, only to cruelly take it away. He had thought the worst to be behind him, that there was a silver lining but this had only been a mirage.

The world now seemed darker than before and Harry had never felt so abandoned. He was lost in the dark and the light at the end of the tunnel had only turned out to be an illusion.

With a dead voice, Harry told the man he had asked Dumbledore to do something for him in the future. He said he had asked him to save his friends and how relieved he had been to know that, no matter what happened next, they were going to be alright.

Except even that wasn't true, was it? If he had forgotten about him being a time-traveller, then Dumbledore must have also forgotten he was to save his friends trapped in the Department of Mysteries.

"I'll have to ask him again."

Except it now seemed to be a Herculean task and Harry wasn't sure he was strong enough to do it again.

Mesmer grimaced. "There's no reason for you to hurry at the present moment. As you must have noticed, you have more than enough time to tackle this problem."

"I do, don't I?" he said as his lips stretched into a humourless smile. "I've got all the time in the world."

An entire century, in fact. Or rather, ninety-nine years.

Considering how desperate everything was, Harry might even have to go to the Department of Mysteries himself the long way round.

"You can cry, you know."

Harry's lips trembled.

"Many would break down for far less," Mesmer commented. "Moreover, it is rarely a good thing to bottle up these sort of feelings. It is very cruel, what is happening to you. And nobody would think any less of you if you were to weep over your situation. When was the last time you cried?"

The last time Harry had cried, it had been when-

 _Harry, I believe you._

And Harry shattered.

Months, entire _months_ had been wasted because he had trusted him. Entire months when he had relied on the wizard only to be let down in the most cruel way possible. It was almost April and Harry was _even less_ ready to go home than before.

He hit the desk with his fist and screamed.

Somebody had pulled the rug from under his feet and now Harry was on the ground. He was on the ground and nobody was going to pick him up.

Ugly tears falling from his eyes, he wondered how this could happen. What he had done to deserve any of this? Who would be cruel enough to lead him up the garden path like that? Why? Why? Why?

Just…

Why?


	22. Seeing with clear eyes

"You're not supposed to patrol this side."

Albus amiably nodded. "It seems I have confused tonight's patrol with tomorrow's. My most sincere apologies, Phineas."

"It's Black!" the Slytherin snapped.

"Of course, of course. Sorry again."

Phineas Black suspiciously looked at him. Finally, he shrugged. "I suppose it's none of my business who you're looking for or why. Just know this: if I find that person, I will not be as lenient as you are and I will give detention."

Albus' lips curled. "I have no idea how you reached such conclusion, Black. I _did_ make a mistake with our patrol schedule."

"And I'm the goblin's king. Now get out of my dungeons."

Albus nodded and quietly went back to the ground floor. Once he was certain nobody was going to come and see him, he heavily sighed.

After a moment of hesitation, Albus had decided to leave the Common Room and find Harry. Sadly, the wizard seemed to have found a hiding place even he was not aware of and it looked like he wouldn't manage to find him tonight.

Usually when Albus hurt somebody, he let them alone as he suspected his presence would do more harm than good to resolve the problem. But there had been something very raw and very fragile in these emerald eyes. A raw pain Albus had only managed to take a glimpse of but he just couldn't take off his mind. And maybe it was a terrible idea, but the prefect couldn't help thinking leaving him alone was an even worse one.

Albus tried to imagine what the wizard could have asked him but came short of an answer. Harry Potter did not particularly strike him as somebody asking for help. Helping others? Yes, that he could easily believe. Seeking help however? Even for his essays, Albus had to push because Harry certainly wasn't going to say he had troubles with History of magic and might need a helping hand.

Whatever it had been, Albus knew, it had to be very important for Harry Potter to ask for help. And he also knew he had deeply hurt him and that it was very unlikely the wizard would ask again.

Whatever it was, Albus hoped that Harry would be able to handle it. Even if it was without him.

* * *

Harry sneezed.

He then handed Professor Mesmer the handkerchief the man had lent him. "Sorry about… this."

Mesmer said, "If you want to see clearly, you need to sometimes clean your eyes."

Harry paused. Finally, he shrugged as the man cleaned the cloth with a flick of his wand.

"Is it not a lesson you learn in your time?" the seer asked.

"No."

If there was _one_ thing he had learned with the Dursleys, it was that tears didn't solve anything and would only make his situation worse. Aunt Petunia would snap at him, Uncle Vernon would order him to stop being so needy and go to his cupboard and Dudley would only laugh and punch harder.

Harry had always linked tears with weakness, and he couldn't help feeling deeply embarrassed at the thought he had cried in front of the man and Dumbledore. Crying people only wanted others to feel guilty. It was useless and needy. The only thing it did was showing the people hurting you they had won.

He wondered if that was why he had hated seeing Cho crying. Cedric is dead and not coming back. Your tears won't bring him back. Can't we just go past this?

"And I thought this century was bad," Mesmer said with a sigh. "Let me tell you this then: in your situation, you cannot allow emotions such as fear or anger could your judgement."

"I can-"

"You can't," he interrupted. "Bottling up your emotions and running from them _never_ works, it is only delaying the inevitable lash out. If you want to control your emotions and not be their slave, then you need to accept them."

Harry considered it one second.

No. He just couldn't do it.

The seer looked at him and sighed, as if he knew what he had just thought.

"Keep it in mind, would you? You may need to remember this one day."

Harry imperceptibly shrugged. "If you say so."

Looking at the teacups on the table, he took his. With some surprise, he realized his was still warm and wondered how that could be.

Magic, probably.

"Tea works too, I suppose. A nice warm cup and then you read the tea leaves, hoping the answers of all your problems are at the bottom of the teacup."

Harry snorted and quickly finished his cup. "Are they?"

"No."

Harry sharply raised his head.

"What?" he numbly asked.

"These are only tea leaves. Not even magical leaves, I bought them like all the leaves in my classroom in muggle London. Your potion professor and I once tried to make a potion using tea leaves, it just gave our concoction a rather odd taste. In the end I had no other choice but to acknowledge the truth: tassomancy is not about the tea."

Harry numbly looked at the Divination Professor. The man snorted.

"The entire thing about the tea leaves coming from a very special tree? It is _a lie_. It adds to the mystical part and justifies higher fees but is utterly false. And the tea usually is disgusting because we buy the cheapest."

"That doesn't mean tassomancy isn't genuine," he amended. "But real experts know it is not what is at the bottom of the cup that matters, it is _how_ you interpret what you see. So you've got that stuff at the bottom of your cup? I do not care what it is, I want to know what you see. Is it a wheel? A sun? Similar shapes but very different meanings and only you can decide which is the correct one. So _no_ , it is not the tea who will show you what tomorrow is going to be like or what to do, it is you. The tea is just a convenient excuse to take a moment, think about your problem and listen to your guts. They often know more than you do."

Harry's slowly lowered his head and looked at the leaves at the bottom at his teacup.

"So… It's like that thing with ink stains and people asking you what you see?"

"Encromancy? Same principle, yes."

"No, I mean… Nevermind."

The last time he had tried tassomancy, he had been informed he was going to learn about some betrayal. He had snorted and posed his teacup but was it possible he already had his suspicions and had just refused to see? Could have he known, deep down, that something was wrong and yet elected to ignore the bitter truth until he had no other choice but to face reality?

* * *

"Please, tell me what I forgot."

"Why should I? You'll forget again."

Harry didn't wait for a reply the next day and when it was Transfiguration, he headed to Slytherin's side, ignoring the rest of his house.

Black only raised an eyebrow when Harry sat next to him.

"So it was you," he just said. And even though Harry tried to find what he was talking about, the Slytherin never gave him an answer.

At the present moment, Harry didn't want to talk to Albus, or any of the many Gryffindors who seemed to have chosen to defend their prefect. Meaning he had no other choice but to stick with wizards from the other three houses. Considering Harry had never truly felt comfortable with Slytherins, he preferred staying close to somebody he at least knew.

"That's not every day he doesn't show off," the Slytherin remarked once Professor O'Connor went past Albus who had transfigured his goblet into a bird but not done something outrageous or seemingly impossible. "Last time was in September. I even found it odd, that's how rare it is."

Harry shrugged and asked, "Who cares?"

He spent the rest of the lesson brooding and pointedly looking anywhere but at Gryffindor's side.

Realistically, Harry knew something must have happened for Albus Dumbledore to forget. The discovery one of your housemates was a time-traveller was not something you could just forget like forgetting you were supposed to hand an essay.

But frankly… He was too exhausted to care.

He was exhausted of all this. Of seemingly making progress until to learn it was only a setback. Of understanding that, no matter what, he was going to sit his OWLs _again_ and spend at minimum an entire year here. Of trying to pick up the pieces and make them somehow fit, praying it would stick this time.

What was the name of that guy who kept pushing a boulder up a hill only for the rock to fall down and for him to do it again? Because Harry was feeling like him right now.

* * *

Elphias looked at his friend a week later and sighed.

"I know it's weighing on you, but it's not as if Potter is blameless either. I mean, why hadn't he asked you more about this thing you were supposed to help him with?"

"He _did_ ask, I think."

"Yes, but they were only allusions, weren't they? It's not as if the two of you had a heart to heart or were sharing notes. You couldn't because you didn't remember but what's his excuse? Why didn't he push more, or tried for the two of you to –oh, I don't know- _work together_?"

Yes, Albus had wondered about that too. From where he was standing, whatever plan the new student had cooked up had been entirely ridiculous. Who would ask for help on something or a project and just decide to go solo until he thought to remember he had asked somebody else to work on it? If that had been a group project, Harry Potter would have failed on its most basic premise.

Albus would have asked him why he hadn't said anything until then but that would require the Gryffindor to _actually_ talk to him instead of looking at him as if he had committed the ultimate betrayal.

If the goal was to make him feel guilty, Albus had to admit these looks were extremely effective.

Albus said, "I am not arrogant enough to believe the blame lays sorely on me, nor do I think I purposefully made myself forget what he has confided to me. I just…"

He was just aware that, somehow, Albus had let him down. The same way, he couldn't stop thinking about these pained eyes looking at him as if Albus had just broken something very fragile in him.

"I just think it hardly matters who is more responsible for this situation," he finally decided to say. "Whether it is me or him, it changes very little in the end. Harry is, I think, deeply hurt by this situation and I regret it came to this. That's all."

Elphias looked at him and sighed. "You're too soft, Albus."

"I know."

"Somebody one day is going to take advantage of that if you're not careful, you know?"

"I know." He smiled and said, "But do you really think that person is going to be Harry?"

"I don't know…" Elphias mused, "He seems to be an alright bloke but we don't really know anything about him either, do we? Where he's from, why he came here, what sort of business he wanted you to help him with… He's asking a lot from you and is barely giving anything in return. I mean, what sort of person asks for a favour and just pretends he hasn't said anything for _months_? Was it really innocent or did he have a good reason to let yourself work on it while he barely did anything?"

"I think you're being slightly paranoid here, my friend," Albus said with a smile.

"Perhaps, I am. I probably am but it has to be said. I know you're probably not going to listen but…" He sighed and told his friend, "Keep that in mind, will you?"

"I promise."

* * *

Phineas Black threw his pendulum on the table and ran a hand through his hair.

"I don't care if Galileo himself proved the magical properties of pendulums, I have enough of this. I have enough of pendulums and astrology and tea. I have enough of divination."

"Then why did you pick it?" Harry mumbled as his turned counter-clockwise.

Whenever Harry was dealing with the pendulum he couldn't help remembering that hypnosis séance and, more than that, Voldemort and his assurance he needed his help.

If Harry had so far managed to shake off the need to seek the dark wizard, the current situation he was in was making it hard for him to remember why talking to him was a _very_ bad idea.

"Honestly? I wanted to annoy my father. That's why I also picked Muggle Studies."

Harry raised an eyebrow, eyes never leaving his pendulum swinging. "Did it work?"

"Sort of. But looking back, I'm not sure I haven't made a mistake there. I mean, is it really going to be useful?"

"Is it really going to be useful for you to know divination, eh?" Harry said.

The pendulum abruptly stopped swinging.

Quickly, the metallic disk raised before flying in the direction of the paper where was written 'YES'.

Phineas groaned. "I don't believe this. Did somebody curse it?" he wondered as he suspiciously at the rest of the class.

"Looks genuine to me," Harry said as he curiously looked at the disc floating on its own. "Now, is Gryffindor going to win the House Cup?"

The disk flew to 'NO'.

Black looked at the pendulum with something akin to wonder. "I can't believe it _actually_ works."

"We're in the lead. Gryffindor is going to win."

Phineas snorted. "In your dreams, Potter. Last year was a miracle but there is _not_ going to be a repeat. Gryffindor is not going to win. It's a fact, the pendulum said so. Now, is _Slytherin_ going win the House Cup?"

Phineas smirked when the pendulum answered by the affirmative. Taking his own pendulum, he started swinging it.

"Now," he whispered, "what did you do for this to happen?"

"No clue."

As Black tried to make his own pendulum work, Harry suddenly wondered if it would answer the question of whether or not Harry was ever going to leave that blasted nineteenth century.

But as he was about to whisper his question, a terrible thought came to him.

What if it said no?

The words died on his lips.

And if the answer was no, then what was Harry going to do?

The pendulum's disk floated in the expectative.

Harry posed it on the table and sighed as he hid his face behind his hands.

He was so damn tired.

* * *

That night, Harry couldn't find sleep.

He'd toss and turn but every time Harry thought he could _finally_ get some rest something came to his mind and he couldn't stop thinking about it.

His friends from the future who were in danger and still needed to be rescued, the prophecy Cassandra Trelawney had given Aberforth Dumbledore, the one from the Department of Mysteries concerning him and Voldemort, Voldemort.

If he had somehow managed to find some peace before, not even his best attempts to use occlumency were enough to calm his tormented mind which seemed determined to remind him just how fucked he was.

After a few hours, Harry gave up and got from his bed. Not even bothering to change, he put on his shoes and left the Common Room. Once he left the castle, he headed to the Quidditch pitch. And taking the first broom on hand, he started to fly.

He flew as high as the broom would let him, putting as much distance as he could from all his problems he's left on the ground. Once his broom refused to fly higher, he made a few zigzags, a small smile slowly forming on his lips.

He didn't know if his animagus form would be some sort of bird, but in that moment he couldn't imagine being a creature unable to fly.

After a few blissful minutes, he finally decided to go back to the ground.

When he landed, he realized he was not alone.

"What are you doing here?" he blurted out.

Albus raised an eyebrow and with a finger touched his prefect badge on his impeccable school robes.

Harry painfully closed his eyes, suddenly remembering he was still in his night robe.

"A lone flyer in the Quidditch pitch at a time where students should not be out of bed… I had to check if that mysterious person had indeed left his bed or if there had only been an incident with a levitation charm gone awry, you understand." His lips curled and he added, "Mind you, had you been in fact flying on your bed, I suppose you wouldn't have been breaking any school rule and I would have had no other choice but to watch. I wonder if that could be a new sport," he mused. "Quidditch in bed."

Harry sighed as he got down from his broom. "I suppose I'm going to get punished," he stated.

"Punishment?" Albus mused. "I suppose you _did_ break the rule so yes, yes… You probably should…"

He closed his eyes and hummed.

"I suppose you could do lines," he finally decided. "' _When it is night, I must only fly on my bed_ ', I suppose that could work."

Harry's scar on his hand twitched. "I'd rather avoid lines."

"Then I suppose I should take points. How many do you think this situation warrants?"

He shrugged. "The pendulum says we're not going to win the cup so do your worst."

Albus' lips twitched and he asked, "The pendulum says we're not? That's quite worrisome. I've been working quite hard for Gryffindor to get the Cup, you know? I suppose that means I will have to work even harder in order to defeat Fate and the mystical powers of a rock at the end of a string. Also, yes, yes… I cannot have too much of a handicap in order to succeed... Well then, one point from Gryffindor."

Harry couldn't help smiling. "You're terrible at this."

"I can always take two if you prefer."

He chuckled. "Wouldn't that put you in a bigger disadvantage?"

Albus wisely nodded. "True, true. I probably shouldn't curse myself in the foot even further. I know I have a gift in doing so but I probably shouldn't make it worse."

Once Harry put the broom back to the broomshed, he saw the prefect was intently looking at him.

"Why did you come here, Harry?"

Harry heavily sighed. "Couldn't sleep," he told him. "I had too much on my mind. I thought if I could fly, I would just… find some peace."

"Ah." A pause. "Did you?"

Harry pretended to look at the sky. "Sort of," he told him as his eyes sought a particular star.

"It's not because of me you go flying in your sleepwear at two in the morning, I hope."

"I've had a lot on my mind ever since I've been here," he slowly began. "So it's not just that."

When he found it, he couldn't help a sad smile.

All this mess because he had wanted to save Sirius.

"Harry, what did you tell me?" Albus softly asked.

He had been so scared of losing the closest thing he has ever had to a parent he hadn't even _once_ considered he could lose everything.

"I'd rather not talk about it."

For a moment, none of them said anything. Both of them too busy musing on their problem, Albus looking at Harry, Harry looking at Sirius.

"Harry, I'm sorry."

Harry gave a long sigh. "It's not your fault," he finally admitted.

Deep down, Harry knew something must have happened for the wizard not to remember. Finding out your new housemate was from the future was not something you could forget easily. It was not some homework to turn or something utterly boring you pushed back until it was utterly hidden it from view and yourself. It was a once in a lifetime event, something so incredible you just couldn't help remembering it decades down the line.

"It's just... It's not fair."

For a time, Harry had actually believed it could be alright. After all, he wasn't alone is this mess, was he? And if Mesmer's help was more than welcome, Albus Dumbledore was more. He was the past, but he also was a link to his time, the present. The only person he _actually_ knew, or thought he did, the _one_ familiar face in that sea of strangers.

Sometimes, Harry would see red hair and sharply turn his head only to realize that this was not a Weasley he had spotted. Sometimes he would forget when he was and begin to panic.

And whenever he spotted these deep blue eyes, Harry's heart would stop racing and he found it easier to breathe. It's okay, he'd start thinking. Albus has got your back, you can do it. Everything is gonna be alright.

It suddenly occurred to him that had been very childish of him to think this. The same way, he had to look like Dudley putting a tantrum because he hadn't received the exact present he had wished for.

From the corner of his eyes, he hesitantly stole a glance in Albus' direction.

He quickly looked away when he realized the boy was looking at him.

"It is not fair, is it?" the auburn-haired softly said. "You trusted me with something very important for you and not only did I not help you with it, I outright forgot what it was. As if it was not even worth remembering. As if I didn't care."

After a pause, Albus slowly said in a hesitant voice, "I just want you to know… that this is not true at all."

Harry turned his head but the other boy was now pointedly looking at the stars, cheeks red in embarrassment.

He slowly smiled. "You do, don't you?"

Maybe this Albus Dumbledore didn't know Harry Potter was a time-traveller, that didn't mean he hadn't done his best to help Harry adapt in this Hogwarts. He didn't have to help him, in fact Harry seriously doubted any prefect would have bothered with a transfer student like him, and yet he had done his best to make sure he would feel at home here.

Without him, Harry was aware he would have lost it _months ago_. And maybe Albus Dumbledore wasn't spending time with him because he wanted to help Harry, the strange wizard lost in time, he was still here for just Harry.

"Thank you."

How strange it was. To be just Harry.


	23. The calm after the storm

Something changed after their talk in the Quidditch pitch. What, Harry didn't quite know, but Harry found it easier to talk to the boy. Easier to laugh at his antics or to roll his eyes whenever the boy was harassing him with his homework or talk with him about alchemy _again_.

Sometimes, Harry wondered if that was because there wasn't this whole time travel mess between them. Harry was not the Boy-Who-Lived, nor was he the time-traveller. And Albus was not the greatest wizard of modern time. He was not Hogwart's headmaster nor the only man Voldemort has ever feared, he was just a bright if sometimes annoying Fifth Year. Harry was just Harry, and Albus was just Albus. Sometimes, it felt like an entire century had separated them and now that it was gone they could finally look at each other eye to eye.

Unless Harry was overthinking it.

Albus took a Bertie bean in the box between them and, without looking at it, promptly ate it. He wrinkled his long nose and made a face.

"What flavour?" Harry asked.

Albus swallowed. "Spinach. Not my favourite, I admit. I suppose you can't get lucky all the time. Want one?"

Harry shrugged and took the box. After carefully looking at each coloured sweet, he settled for a pink one he put in his mouth.

"So?"

Harry swallowed. "Bubble gum."

Albus blinked and smiled. "You're very lucky then. This is among the rarest and is to my opinion the best flavour. To be honest, I'm slightly jealous."

Harry shrugged. "You proposed."

"Yes, I supposed I did," he mused as Harry started looking at his notes for the oncoming OWL exams.

After the whole drama about Albus forgetting he was a time traveller had come the realization Harry was definitely going to sit these bloody OWLs. Harry had groaned at this but, he had tried to think, it wasn't as if he hadn't prepared for this for two entire years. And, having sat his OWLs in his time, the task ahead didn't seem as daunting as it had been the first time.

The only real course he was really wary of was Divination.

Professor Mesmer had been very clear on the subject. While the seer was willing to help him, he also liked getting paid for his work and would rather explain some important concepts in class than work pro bono. And one thing for example Mesmer had categorically refused to explain had been prophecies. No matter how much Harry had tried to get any information on them, if only to understand the ones the Trelawneys have made, the man had refused.

Prophecies, it seemed, were to Mesmer a very serious and very dangerous business. Far more than actual time travel apparently, and it hadn't helped that Harry had refused to explain why he was so interested in them.

So, if Harry wanted to learn more, he'd have to be learning Divination up to his last year at Hogwarts. Only then would Harry be deemed worthy. And if Harry wanted Mesmer to accept him in his NEWT classes, he needed to get an Outstanding.

"You should be alright," Albus remarked once he talked about their OWLs. "Considering how much you've worked this year. I wouldn't be surprised if you've got at minimum four Os."

Harry raised his eyebrows at that. "Four?"

He nodded. "Defence Against the Dark Arts is a given, I believe. And I have little doubt you will do splendidly in Transfiguration, Charms and even Potions."

Harry couldn't stop a smile at that. Considering how hard Albus had been making him work on these three courses, he sure as hell hoped the boy was right.

"As for the other courses, while I cannot guarantee you this sort of mark as certainly as I do the others, the worst you should be facing is an Acceptable in History of magic."

Harry shrugged. "I hope you're right."

If Harry got better marks in the nineteenth century than he did in the twentieth, Harry wondered if Professor Dumbledore would let him keep the best marks.

Probably.

Albus nodded and put his bag on the table to retrieve a book on what seemed to be alchemy.

"I would even dare to say you would be accepted in alchemy should you wish to pick this course next year."

Whenever alchemy was mentioned, Harry couldn't help thinking about his First Year. "I think I'll pass. I mean, what can alchemy actually do if nobody but Flamel can make the philosopher stone?"

"Oh, quite a lot of things," Albus replied as he posed the book on the table. "The impossible, for example. Alchemy in many ways allows one to bend the laws of the universe and succeed in doing the seemingly impossible."

Harry stilled. "You can do things that are usually magically impossible," he slowly repeated.

Dumbledore slowly nodded, a sly smile on his face. "There is quite a lot we still do not know on this magical art, and I think-"

But Harry was listening anymore.

Mesmer's lessons were useful, but they were also very theoretical. When the man wasn't explaining the current political landscape and explaining that, no, Ireland is not a republic here and don't ever say such terrible prediction near any politician or how to bullshit his way out, he was explaining very complicated philosophical concepts that often left Harry with a terrible headache. So even if Harry could potentially have a lead in finding a way home, he had to admit he hadn't got a single clue in how putting it into practice.

But if alchemy could succeed in doing the seemingly impossible…

"Harry? Are you listening?"

Harry startled and dazedly blinked. "Sorry. I just-" He shook his head. "You said alchemy could break the fundamental laws of the universe?"

"I did not exactly say _break_ , I prefer saying you bend fundamental rules we usually consider absolute. Transmutation of plain metals into gold, holding death at bay with the elixir of long life…" He shrugged and smiled. "Alchemy is a fascinating and very secretive art that transforms not only physical objects but also metaphysical concepts. The alchemist's own soul is also concerned by this transformation and it is perhaps the key behind everything."

Harry pondered the idea he's just had, wondering if this could be the missing piece to the puzzle he had to solve.

But it could also be a colossal waste of time and Harry had already lost a year.

"I know it is said to be a very complex magical art," Albus tried, "and I'm sure you will be very busy next year but I honestly believe it is doable for you to learn it should you want to study alchemy. Well, I think it will be if you put your mind into it and allow me to help you."

Harry carefully looked at Dumbledore's hopeful face and sighed. "Fine, fine. I'm in."

Albus gave a triumphant grin and Harry's lips twitched.

* * *

"I'm serious, if you need help with Charm-"

"I'm _actually_ good at Charm," Aberforth interrupted. "And I can study just fine so don't waste your breath, _Dogbreath_."

Elphias Doge looked affronted for a moment. Finally, he loudly sighed as if he was making a great effort in talking to the Third Year. "I'm sure you can do it but I just want to help. I know Third Year is an important year and the new courses-"

Aberforth hid his face behind his hands and groaned.

True to his word, his brother wasn't sticking his long nose in his business anymore. However, and Aberforth wanted to curse himself for not noticing sooner, there had been _another loophole_ in their deal.

While it was true he couldn't attempt to help him, that didn't mean Albus couldn't give sad sighs every now and then when his followers were nearby and 'confess' he was worried about his rebellious little brother wasting away his potential by being unreasonable.

So now, it was not Albus but _the entire house_ harassing him.

Why couldn't he have a normal family? Why did he have to have manipulative siblings?

"-and if you do not perform well for your Ordinary Wizarding Level-"

"-I will not manage to choose which course I will take for my Nastily Exhausting Tests and this will hinder me for my future profession, I know!" he sharply interrupted. "Albus gives me this spiel every day, do you think I'm so stupid I cannot even remember this?"

Elphias stopped talking and uneasily looked away.

Aberforth glared and the Fifth Year shrank.

"Why don't you try to work harder?" the older boy asked in a meek voice. "If you know this is important, then why?"

"Why should I tell you?" he tightly said. "Now get out before I decide to let you help me with cursing."

The older boy seemed to realize –finally- he wasn't going to accomplish anything and with a small apology pretended he needed to go somewhere.

Once the Fifth Year was gone, Aberforth sighed.

Truth be told, he was aware that, no matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried, he'd never surpass Albus. That, no matter what, he'd always stay in his shadow.

So why trying? If you are going to fail no matter what, then why should you bother? Isn't it better not to care?

He remembered being eleven and admitting to his brother in a hesitant voice how much he hated being seen as 'Albus Dumbledore's brother'.

"Believe me," Albus had replied with a bitter smile, "it is better to be Albus Dumbledore's brother than Perceval Dumbledore's son."

He still regretted not punching him for that one.

Aberforth shook his head and glared at the rest of the Common Room, daring any potential challenger to just _try_.

When he was satisfied, he took his brown quill, looked at his still blank parchment and sighed.

He knew he actually needed help with Transfiguration, but he just couldn't let the others turn him into some charity case. Or use him just to get closer to Albus. The same way, he refused to let his brother know he _actually_ needed his help when it came to his favourite subject and admit defeat.

He supposed that meant he'd get another bad mark.

* * *

A white dove came during one of Professor Mesmer's lessons.

"I've got to take this," he said as he took the paper on the bird's leg. Opening the letter he raised an eyebrow. "Well, I suppose this solves that."

When he put it on his table however, Harry noticed the paper was in fact blank.

"I've got to say he's sharp. And it's even better than if I had actually done something. It's even strange if you think about it for a moment." Turning to Harry he asked with a smile, "I mean, what are the odds?"

Harry blankly looked at him. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

The seer's electric blue eyes shined in amusement. "Of course you don't. Now, what were we talking about?"

Harry tried to remember. "Eternal recurrence."

"Ah yes, eternal recurrence. Nietzsche has touched upon it but I suppose a muggle like him cannot completely get it right. Surprisingly, despite the seemingly infinite possibilities there can be history seems to have a strange habit of repeating itself, as if nothing was nothing but a circle and everything we ever did was pointless. When it comes to the big lines, a talented enough historian can go past the details and spot the repetitions. It has already happened, it will inevitably happen again. There is nothing new under the sun and the wheel of time keeps turning over and over. To the same seemingly impossible problem, the answer will remain the same. You cannot stop the wheel from finishing its rotation and the only thing we can ever hope to change is the details."

Harry frowned. "Does it really change anything? If you can't go against the recurrence, isn't it pointless then?"

Mesmer shrugged. "You tell me."

Harry didn't know what to say to that. "You said nothing was truly fixed," he finally accused.

"I did. It may seem contradictory but what are the details exactly, Mister Potter? One theory on time does not necessarily imply the other cannot also be true."

Harry slowly massaged his temples and Mesmer grimaced in sympathy.

"The characters may change, it is at its core the same story and it has the same ending. Does that help?"

"Slightly."

But only just.

* * *

"Expelliarmus!"

The Slytherin's wand fell from his hand and flew in his opponent's direction.

"Winner: Dumbledore," Professor Merrythought declared.

Arcturus Black darkly looked at his opponent and Aberforth couldn't help giving the Slytherin a smug smile.

Like all Headmaster's children, the Slytherin was known to be talented in Defence Against the Dark Arts, and even the Dark Arts.

So a victory against him was a clear sign that Aberforth Dumbledore was not somebody to mess with. With luck, the rest of his house might think twice before trying to annoy him.

He was still high on his victory when Professor Merrythought asked him to stay behind and not even some of his classmates' knowing looks managed to break his mood.

"You wanted to talk to me, Professor?" he asked her.

"Yes, I do."

With a flick of her wand, the words on the blackboard vanished.

"I have to admit, your other Professors have warned me about you."

Prince no doubt. That bastard couldn't stand him and the hatred was mutual. "Did they now?"

She nodded. "I've heard as much about you as I have about your brother. And if they had nothing but praises for your brother, I confess the portrait they gave me of you was not as flattering."

Aberforth shrugged. "Hard to be, no?"

Everybody seemed to think the sun shined out of Albus' arse after all. In fact, Aberforth wouldn't be surprised to learn his brother had found a spell just for that and could now fart rainbows.

"I suppose it is," the witch acknowledged. "Still, imagine my surprise when I realized you are in fact my best student in your year."

Aberforth blinked. "I am?"

She nodded. "You are a little too impulsive to my tastes but I suppose this is normal for a boy your age. I came here expecting from what I've heard you to be my worst student, so you must imagine my surprise. Any idea what could explain this?"

It was most certainly Potter's help, Aberforth had to admit. It couldn't be said after all he was _actually_ listening to her lecture and whatever spell he knew, it was because Potter had showed him or had explained it in a way that didn't seem as boring as she was making it be.

Aberforth decided to try a smile. "I suppose I've got a good teacher, ma'am."

Professor Merrythought gave him _a look_.

The smile lessened.

"Yes, it certainly seems so," she finally said. After a sigh, she shrugged and said, "I suppose it is a pity that you cannot find somebody you feel comfortable with to help you with your other subjects or I'm sure you would be a very good student."

Aberforth frowned carefully looked at her.

If he was right, the woman was implying something, but what?

"I don't really care about being a good student," he decided to say.

Professor Merrythought looked at him as if to say that point had always been very clear to her.

"In this case… What do you care about, Mister Dumbledore? If you know, you may suddenly realize there could be a very good reason for you to work hard at what first appeared to be pointless. More than anything, what truly drives you?"

Aberforth immediately thought of a little girl crying all the tears in her small body.

But he knew there was only one correct answer to give.

"No idea."

* * *

When Aberforth came in the Room of Requirement, he threw his bag on the floor.

"Everything alright?" Harry asked as he finished preparing the dummy.

"Fine and dandy," Aberforth mumbled. "Just Merrythought being annoying."

Harry blinked. "She's rather nice."

The woman was very competent and a rather good teacher. Moreover, she seemed not to mind that Harry didn't want to duel all that much and as general rule was leaving him alone. In the list of DADA teachers, she was above 'Moody' and a close second behind Professor Lupin.

It was really a pity something was going to happen to her and she would be gone next year because Harry kinda liked her.

"I think she knows about you helping me."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "What makes you say that? I mean, how could she know?"

"I don't know… Maybe it's something you can see when people duel."

Harry thought about it and shrugged. "So what? There is no educational decree saying we can't learn defence here yet, right?"

" _Yet_?"

"Well, you never know."

Aberforth suspiciously looked at him. "Is that one of these seer things again?"

"Yep."

Harry turned to Aberforth and smiled. "In the future, learning defence will be forbidden in order to stop your brother from fomenting a coup against the Ministry of magic. And the Defence Professor will be a mole from the Ministry searching for his underground army who will train in this very room."

Aberforth blankly looked at him. He then snorted and rolled his eyes. "Alright, alright. Sorry to ask."

Harry bit his tongue to stop a laugh and turned his attention back to the dummy.

He could see why Mesmer loved doing this so much. Telling the truth in such an outrageous way nobody sane would consider it could be the truth.

And Aberforth Dumbledore was his guinea pig. Not only was the boy too noisy and one of the few he was actually worried could find the truth, Harry couldn't stop enjoying seeing his face whenever he spouted something that seemed outrageous but was utterly true.

He was still proud of the one where he said he was the most famous baby in history.

"Still, I think she was implying something there. Like she said that I should- oh goddammit."

Harry looked at the Third Year. "What's wrong?"

"I think I know what she was hinting at."

"Alright then, what was it?"

But Aberforth never answered and started cursing the dummy until it exploded and the Room of Requirement conjured another.

"I'm the best student in my year in Defence," Aberforth said with a grin after Harry congratulated him.

"That's good, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Though," he added, "I think Albus'd prefer if I was doing better in transfiguration. You good at it?"

Harry shrugged. "I get by. I can't really say I love it really. Don't see much of a point."

That was enough to set the younger Dumbledore on a tirade that transfiguration was useless. Like, honestly, what was the point in transfiguring an owl into opera glasses? Why would he go to the opera and what had that bird done to deserve this? Worse, what kind of wizard who has enough money to go to an opera doesn't have enough to buy glasses? And if Aberforth needed a needle, he was going to buy one, not search for a matchstick to change it!

"Is there even _anything_ that does not stink in transfiguration?" Aberforth hotly finished.

Harry knew the question wasn't actually directed at him. But Harry couldn't help saying in a soft voice, "Animagi are rather wicked, really."

Aberforth stopped and frowned. "Animagi? What's that again?"

"Wizards that can change into animals."

Aberforth snorted. "Oh, that? That's perhaps the lamest. I mean, maybe it's nice if you can fly or something big but _really_? _That's_ what you think is great about transfiguration? Turning into a sticking rat?"

Harry's jaw tensed. "My father was an animagus."

Aberforth's rant stopped. "Sorry," he mumbled. After a pause, he asked, "What was he?"

"A stag." He considered casting the patronus and showing him Prongs but chose against it. "And my godfather is a dog."

A pause. "How many animagi do you know exactly?" he suspiciously asked.

"I'm not sure… Five, I think."

" _Five_? Isn't that supposed to be very, very difficult and very, very hard?"

Harry shrugged. "What can I say? My dad and my godfather wanted to help their friend."

It was at this moment he realized he might have said a little too much.

After much harassing and when it was clear Aberforth was not going to drop it anytime soon, Harry decided to give the boy a bone, if only to make him shut up.

"One of my dad's friends was a werewolf."

Seeing the younger Dumbledore had finally shut up, he sighed. "And they wanted to keep him company during the full moon. As the werewolf would have attacked them, they thought they would be safe if they weren't human during his transformation. So they became animagi."

Aberforth was dead silent.

"Don't tell anybody," Harry ordered. "I don't want- It's not very legal, what they did."

Although, Harry thought just as he said these words, he didn't know what damage Aberforth could do with that, considering Remus Lupin would not be born before _decades_.

Aberforth swallowed. "Did it work?" he asked in an unusually small voice.

Harry dazedly blinked. "What? Oh yeah. Yeah, it worked. The wolf didn't want to attack them and he felt more in control of himself. I think he even said he liked playing with them."

Deciding he had already said far too much, he decided to call it a day and, pretending he needed to talk with Albus, he left the Room of Requirement.

He never noticed the pensive look in the boy's eyes.

* * *

Aberforth might need to get better at Transfiguration.

Key word being _might_. Aberforth still thought transfiguration was rubbish but it was just possible there _might_ be something useful there.

Problem was, Aberforth was actually terrible at Transfiguration and even now categorically refused to ask for Albus' or anybody's help and admit defeat.

Merrythought might have implied he should ask Potter to help him, there was something the witch hadn't understood.

Aberforth hadn't asked for help. He had been clever enough _not_ to ask for Potter's help in Defence, he had made a trade: Defence for Occlumency. Aberforth didn't know why the Fifth Year had wanted to learn it, that was thankfully one of the few skills he was good at and he could easily trade.

But now he had used this card and needed to find a skill to use in order to bargain for Potter's help.

Aberforth considered a moment just asking the boy for a few pointers and snorted. What a stupid idea, Aberforth didn't want anybody to look down on him so he needed something to stand on equal ground.

And so Aberforth made a mental list of what he was good at.

Skill one: he knew how to take care of a herd of goats.

Not a very sellable skill, he reluctantly admitted. Though it was a goddamn useful one and one of the few things Albus was terrible at.

It took longer for the Third Year to find a second skill.

And when he did, he smirked.

He knew what he was going to do next time they'd train.

* * *

Albus was flabbergasted.

"What on earth happened to you?" he exclaimed after Harry had entered the Common Room with a bloody nose and full of bruises.

"Your brother punched me."

During tonight's lesson, Aberforth Dumbledore had welcomed him with his fist. Once Harry had sworn bloody murder, the Third Year had explained that, from his point of view, full contact was often much better than cursing as wizards were usually terrible without their wand and that Harry was pathetic at dodging and see what I did? You didn't have time to take your wand, did you?

Harry had spent his entire childhood knowing this was true and frankly hadn't needed Aberforth Dumbledore to tell him that. He had _never_ had any illusion his cousin wouldn't manage to flat him in a second if he couldn't outrun him or use his wand.

Albus opened his mouth in shock. Finally, he said, "I'm so sorry. Here, you should sit down. Let me look at that." He cursed under his breath when he looked at Harry's nose. "Hold on," he said as his retrieved his wand, "it may tickle a little."

Albus put a hand on his cheek and waved his wand.

"I'm so sorry. Why did Aberforth even-"

"He was trying to prove a point."

Point was that when somebody was attacking him in close contact, there was little Harry could do to defend himself.

"I will be having a word with him," Albus gravelly promised. "What was he thinking honestly?"

Harry considered telling the auburn-haired that after admitting he was right, he hadn't said no to a spar which had ended up with a humiliating defeat but he remembered Aberforth had specifically ordered him _not_ to tell his brother of this.

Harry doubted he would ever punch Voldemort in the face, but the idea of making Dudley or Malfoy bite the dust had been too tempting and he hadn't refused the Third Year's help in getting better in muggle fighting.

In exchange for a few pointers in transfiguration of course, Aberforth wasn't one to work for free.

"It's fine. He wasn't trying to hurt me. I just… Would have liked a warning."

But the prefect was agitated. "But he _always_ do that. Why can't he-? Why does he always has to-?"

Albus sighed and Harry realized how tired he actually was.

"I don't get it," he said and Harry thought for a moment the prefect was going to cry. "The other wizards are goading him and he knows that. So why does he always fall for it? Can't he see that's what they want? To get him in trouble? Why? Why? Why? Can't he see he's ruining _everything_?"

Harry hesitated.

"Aberforth," Harry slowly began, "is hot-blooded. Like I am, like Ron is. So when we see an injustice, we want to fix it. And when we are wronged, we want to have our revenge."

"Revenge doesn't solve anything and is a very selfish choice that brings troubles to everybody else."

There was something very bitter in these words. As if there were more to it and Albus had been a very hurt a long time ago by somebody who wanted to make justice himself.

"Can't he see all the damage control I have to do so that everybody don't start treating him like a dangerous wizard? Can't he-" He sighed, defeated.

"I think he does," Harry said after a while. "And I think that's why he keeps doing it."

Albus removed his hand from his face and gave him an incredulous look.

"I'm sure you try your best, but you can't always be there. And as people keep messing with him, he knows they'll only stop when it will be clear you shouldn't cross him."

"That's ridiculous," Albus finally said. "If he just didn't fight back-"

"-he'll get bullied."

Albus took a pause. "If he tells me-"

"-he'll be a coward. And it's not his style."

Harry wouldn't even be surprised to learn some students would love Aberforth to go crying on his brother's shoulder. After all, harassing or going after Albus Dumbledore was pure madness. But if you wanted to cause Albus trouble, all you needed to do was to go after Aberforth.

Albus gave a long sigh. "True, very true. Aberforth would rather die than ask for help. You cannot imagine what schemes he can build sometimes in order _not_ to ask for help."

"Really."

Albus gave him a small smile. "Really. There was that time for example when instead of asking our mother to use magic and fix his toy like a normal person, he decided it would be a good idea to-"

* * *

It had been a fruitful year, Albus thought.

If he ignored one or two hitches, Albus had managed to succeed in most of the tasks he had imposed himself at the beginning of the year. And although he had to admit he had been close to a breakdown at the end of the year with everybody wanting his attention, he thought he had managed to handle his numerous responsibilities without too much problem.

All was left now, Albus thought as he spotted from the window the delegation from the Ministry of magic arriving, was their Ordinary Wizarding Levels. And even if he reasonably knew he wouldn't be facing too much hassle, he couldn't help feeling, like everybody, a little nervous at what was his first really important exam.

After all, as he had told Harry, this examination would decide their entire future and was something they will only experience once in their lifetime.


	24. The end of the year

**WARNING:** This chapter deals with a short panic attack at the very end. I do not know if it could actually be triggering to anybody but I prefer to err on side of caution and say it starts just after "That's at this exact instant Harry realized just how fucked he was" and should end at "Finally, colours came back."  
Thank you.

* * *

"Elda!" Galatea Merrythought greeted with a wide smile as she spotted a young and extremely beautiful blonde witch.

The beautiful witch turned around and, seeing her, walked in her direction to hug her.

"It's been so long!" Elda exclaimed. "How's life treating you, Galatea?"

"Good, good," she cheerfully answered. "I thought I'd get bored here but the students are keeping me on my toes."

"Nothing too tedious I hope."

"No, no. Far from it. There's for example a couple Fifth Years that I think have what it takes for-"

"Ah, ah." Elda raised a finger. "No influencing the examiners before the examinations, my friend."

She sighed and gave the witch a sly smile. "You saw right through me. But enough about me, what about you? How are things between you and Frank?"

The pretty witch sighed. "It's… complicated. I thought it was serious and he was about to propose but… Maybe he's not as keen as I am. And maybe it's better if we just-" She sighed again. "I'd rather not talk about it."

"If there is anything I can do," Galathea seriously said, "I want you to know I'm here."

"Thank you."

"I'm serious. If he breaks your heart or hurts you, I will gladly lend you my wand."

She smiled.

"Hopefully, it won't be needed."

* * *

Harry intently looked at the cards in front of him, then looked at Black's impassive face. After a moment, he finally made his choice.

"I fold."

Black sighed and showed Harry his hand. Full house.

Harry only had a flush.

There had been many strange things Harry has done in divination, but learning poker took the cake.

"Do not show weakness in front of your examiner," Professor Mesmer repeated to the rest of the class. "Or anybody whose future you're predicting. The examiners will attempt to push you into making a mistake, say something to destabilize you and force you to show them where you're falling short. Your poker face in other words must be perfect. Also, the fact you have a third eye does not mean it is a good idea not to use the other two or stop listening. Take a good feel of your examiner and adapt yourself to them. All in all, divination is a very elaborate poker game. You need to see which cards they have in hand, spot their tell and get into their head before making them think you know more than you actually do. Often, it's them who will tell you what you need. Well I say this is basically Divination, it is also true to your other magical courses so pretend you've got everything covered and don't let them see you haven't revised _anything_ in Charms. And finally, if they ask you to make a prediction, make one that will not be fulfilled before August."

"Why, sir?" the blonde Weasley asked.

"Because that way you can bluff as much as you want and they won't be able to take you points should you be utterly wrong, think it through."

Harry supposed he should have seen this coming. Of course Mesmer's final lesson would be about bluffing their way through their OWLs.

After asking Phineas for the time, the Divination Professor said, "And that's it. Time for us to say good bye. It was a pleasure to teach you and I hope everything will go smoothly for your OWLs. And remember: more than the cards that were given to you, it is what you will do with them that will decide whether you win or lose."

* * *

Elphias drank the whole vial of calming draught. He then grimaced.

"You've got this," Albus tried to encourage him. "You've worked the entire year, there is no reason for anything to go wrong. You've got this."

The blonde gave him a mopey smile. "I've got this," he peacefully repeated. "And if I don't, I am sure not getting the marks needed to work in the Ministry of magic won't be the end of the world."

"Exactly-"

"It's not the end of the world if they break my wand and tell me to leave the Wizarding world." He serenely nodded. "I mean, muggles get by just fine. I may be terrible in muggle studies, it's not as if it'll really matter if I become a tramp."

Albus paused. "Now that's-"

"Or maybe I'll start working in a travelling circus and I'll be so terrible at cleaning the cage a lion will eat me." He softly sighed. "If the lions eat me, I want you to know you get my chocolate frogs cards, Albus."

The calming draught might not have been a good idea.

* * *

Harry thought he did okay in the written exams.

There a couple of times he had hesitated, not knowing if what he was about to write had been discovered yet but he was pretty sure he had managed to deal with that problem just fine. Also Albus had been annoying his housemates so much into not neglecting the written portion he had almost mechanically written all he got and even added more on each subject when Harry realized he still had fifteen minutes to kill.

To be honest, Harry wasn't particularly worried or stressed. He had _literally_ spent two years preparing himself for these bloody OWLs and had now reached the point when he simply wanted to be done with it. As long as he got good marks in the practical parts and got an Outstanding in Divination, he didn't really care.

The only thing he was truly worried about was falling asleep in History of magic, really.

* * *

Albus peacefully sat next to Elphias as they both waited for their name to be called.

"Everything is going to be alright, Elphias."

"Easy for you to say," Elphias mumbled. "You're great in Charms."

"You're not bad either, Elphias."

"I _know_ but- Will it be enough for me to get an E?"

Albus opened his mouth to answer.

The door on Albus' right opened and a Hufflepuff left the room in tears. She ran past them, sobbing.

Elphias stilled and horrifyingly looked at him.

"You'll do great," Albus mouthed.

 _Very_ slowly, Elphias got up and began walking to the door.

Elphias had barely entered the room a Ravenclaw left it, face grave.

He supposed it was his turn.

Albus closed his eyes, took a deep breath and left his chair to enter Classroom 4 for his Charms practical exam.

"Mister Dumbledore, I think Professor Tofty is free," said Professor Dippet, who was standing just inside the door once he saw Albus. He pointed Albus toward what looked like a red-haired middle-aged wizard.

After thanking his Charms Professor, Albus walked in his direction. "Good morning, Professor," Albus greeted the man.

"Good morning," Professor Tofty absent-mindedly answered as he checked his notes. "Mister Dumbledore, I'm going to hand you an iguana and you will be asked to charm it as we-"

He stopped talking when he finally raised his head and saw the pink iguana in front of Albus.

Albus amiably smiled. "What do you want me to show you, sir?" he amiably asked as he pretended he hadn't just done very complex conjuration non-verbally.

Albus got the feeling he was going to enjoy this part.

* * *

All in all, Harry thought he had done very well in Charm. Unlike the last time, Harry hadn't made any big mistake like confusing two charms and had even succeeded in turning his iguana the colour of a rainbow.

It had quite an effect on his examiner, so Harry got the feeling he might actually get an O.

He closed his book and decided to call it a day. As he walked the stairs leading to the boys' dormitories, he couldn't stop himself from bemusedly shaking his head at the crowd harassing Albus for his advices and one last advice for how to deal with transfiguration tomorrow.

The next day was roughly the same, with written exams in the morning and the practical exam in the afternoon. After an entire year of Albus harassing him in Transfiguration, Harry couldn't say he was particularly worried about which mark he'd get.

On Wednesday, they had Herbology and Harry wrote all he knew about mandrakes and managed not to bet attacked by his fanged geranium. And then on Thursday, it was Defence Against the Dark Arts.

If Harry has had the distinct feeling in 1996 to have gotten an O in Defence, it was nothing compared to now. He had given the five signs identifying a werewolf and thought he had given a very clear answer on the killing curse, though an outdated one considering what he knew.

"Potter, I think Professor Young is free," Professor Dippet said when he entered the room for the practical exam. Pointing at a very beautiful witch, he added. "I'd wish you good luck, but I don't think you actually need it."

Harry nodded and walked in the direction of his examiner.

Professor Young was beautiful, Harry couldn't help noticing. As in, Fleur Delacour beautiful. Sun-kissed blonde hair, deep blue eyes and a rather slender figure, she was so beautiful Harry couldn't help blushing.

"Name?" the witch asked him.

"Har-Harry Potter."

The witch nodded as she wrote his name down and Harry was surprised once more at the utter lack of reaction his name brought here.

"Very well, we'll begin with the disarming charm."

Harry grinned and raised his wand.

There was a reason why his classmates hated that charm. And the more she asked of him, the more confident he got.

When the smiling witch asked him if there was a spell he wanted to try for bonus points, Harry couldn't stop himself from showing off.

As always, Prongs made quite an impression.

* * *

"A stag," Elda excitedly told her friend as Galatea was eating during dinner. "That boy just casted a fully corporeal patronus, can you believe it?"

Galatea swallowed. "I've been told this stag was quite a sight, yes."

"Was it you who taught him the patronus?" she asked. "You told me you were helping a student, was it him?"

"No and no. He could already cast the patronus when he came here this year and I'm helping another student."

Elda tilted her head. "Considering you were known for this charm, I would have thought you'd be more interested."

Griselda smiled. "I admit I regret not seeing that patronus, but Mister Potter is not one to enjoy attention. Ever since he's been here, it's been clear to me he doesn't want people to bother him and I have the feeling proposing my help him will do more harm than good."

Elda frowned and Griselda sighed.

She supposed it was normal for her friend to miss it. She was after all a scholar and only people with her experience could recognize the eyes of a survivor. She didn't know if that was linked with him coming here but from the moment he's raised his wand against her on the day they met and jumped to avoid what had looked like a killing curse, it had been obvious the boy had learnt defence not because he wanted to but because he _had to_.

Still, she wondered what would bring a fifteen years old to learn one of the most complex charms that existed in order to be shielded from Dementors, creatures that while extremely dangerous were working with the Ministry of magic in Azkaban and never seen in the UK. Because, if somebody like Harry Potter would learn such complex magic, it had to be because at one point he _had to_.

"We'll see next year, I suppose. I must admit I had a busy year." Finishing her dish, she asked Elda, "Are you really sure you don't want anything, Elda?"

The witch grimaced. "I'd rather not. I don't know why but the _smell_ … I haven't stopped throwing up lately and I don't want to tempt my luck. Still, I don't know which optional course he's taken, but I hope I'll have to interrogate him again."

"Why?"

Elda smirked.

"Why, to see how he fares under pressure of course."

* * *

"You've never told me you could conjure a fully corporeal patronus," Albus reproached the next day during lunch once he has heard about the incident.

Harry shrugged. "Didn't really see the point."

Albus blankly looked at him.

Harry tried not to chuckle. "Is it true you sat the Muggle Studies exam?"

"That I did," he confirmed. "I must admit, Elphias' face was rather comical when he saw me. And I will also attempt to pass Divination tomorrow."

Harry paused. "I thought you believed Divination was a lot of rubbish."

Albus sagely nodded. "True, true. Very true. However, I must admit I am hoping to get an outstanding in all the courses Hogwarts is teaching and for this reason quickly read Elphias' book. And also, I will attempt to see how the science of deduction will help me into 'predicting' the future."

"The science of deduction," Harry stated.

"Well, more like induction really. Doctor Doyle however called it deduction so I suppose it hardly matters." Seeing Harry's befuddled face, he explained. "Doctor Doyle is a muggle author who wrote a few stories in the Strand magazine about a muggle who-"

"I know Sherlock Holmes," he interrupted.

Albus' face suddenly brightened. "You do?" he breathed before babbling, "Which story is your favourite? I admit mine is _The Final Problem_ even though I admit I was slightly upset when -"

" _Slightly?_ " Elphias incredulously exclaimed. "Don't think anybody here forgot Second Year, Albus. So, _please_ , we beg you, stop talking about that muggle."

The other Gryffindors seriously nodded.

Harry snickered at the sight of Albus' outraged face.

* * *

"Professor Young is free," Professor Mesmer said when it was finally time for Harry to sit his OWL in Divination. "Remember, it's O or nothing so work for it."

Once Harry sat in front of the woman, she asked in a melodious and angelic voice "Harry Potter, correct?" She checked her notes and nodded to herself. "Very well, I suppose we should begin with chiromancy." Extending her hand, she added, "What do you see in my future, Mister Potter?"

Harry with a trembling hand took her in his and pretended to look at it.

She had such a nice perfume, he noticed. Not unlike the sweets Albus liked lately and which changed taste every two bites before exploding into a small firework in your mouth.

Speaking of Albus…

Harry paused and looked and cautiously looked at her. "You're right-handed, right?"

The witch gave him a sweet smile. "I'm left-handed actually. Why?"

"To read your future, the non-dominant hand must be used," he began explaining. "If you're left-handed, I need to read your right hand, not the left hand."

"Oh really," she said as she took her quill with said left hand and wrote something in the notebook in front of her. "My most sincere apologies. But then again, I would have thought you would have foreseen this."

Harry blankly looked at her. The witch's smile stayed.

"The Higher Being," Harry curtly answered as she rolled her eyes, "works in mysterious ways. It also shows us what is going to happen, not what you are. It will show you giving me your left hand, it will not tell me you're left-handed."

And Harry who had thought after Defence the witch liked her.

"Very well then." Handing him the right hand she said, "What can you tell me about my future?"

Harry slowly took her right hand and considered the lines he could see. Tracing her life line with his finger, he said, "You will have a long life."

"Yes, but what is long exactly? Because a long life doesn't mean the same thing for a muggle and a wizard. You're being rather vague here. Is it possible for me to get a number? How long will I live exactly, Mister Potter?"

That was not in the curriculum.

Harry briefly looked at the innocent-looking witch.

"I can conjure a measuring tape if you need."

It took all his efforts for Harry not to scowl.

"There are many parameters to consider," he slowly began. "But while I _could_ give you a rough approximation, I should warn you that a long life is not the guarantee of a good one."

"Ah but if the concept of a long life is relative, isn't the concept of a good one _even more_ subjective?"

Harry had to remind himself cursing his examiner was a terrible idea.

"N-Naturally." The witch smirked and Harry tried to put on his best poker face. "But isn't everything in this world relative in some way?"

"Is it really now?"

"I just meant that with the time we have at our disposal I can either predict one or the other, but not the two."

The witch hummed a moment.

"I suppose you're right. So tell me then: which one will I ask you to predict? What does your third eye see me picking?"

Now he wanted to murder her.

A bitch like her, the answer had to be: "Neither."

She smirked. "I admit I would kill for a cuppa. No milk, no sugar. We wouldn't want them to influence the magical tea leaves."

As he was handing the woman a teacup, Harry willed the tea to poison itself.

It was obvious the witch didn't believe in divination and she was _clearly_ playing with him, hoping to push him into making a mistake.

 _"The examiners will attempt to push you into making a mistake, say something to destabilize you and force you to show them where you're falling short."_

Harry hadn't thought it would be this serious. It even felt like he was duelling against her and he wasn't sure he wouldn't give himself away at this rate. No, if Harry wanted to survive this hell, he needed to turn the tables on her.

But how?

Something shattered as Harry handed Professor Young her teacup.

They promptly turned their head in the direction of the noise and saw a horrified Hufflepuff girl looking at a smashed crystal ball on the floor.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! I just-"

"It's alright," Professor Tofty tried to reassure the witch. "These sort of accidents happen. No worry. Griselda, would it be alright to borrow your crystal ball a moment?"

Harry's examiner sighed and nodded. "Go ahead, I wasn't planning on using it"

Professor Tofty thanked her and summoned the crystal ball before putting it on his table.

"Well then, where were we?" Griselda Young asked Harry. "Right, the tea-"

But Harry felt like he's just been slapped.

"Your name is Griselda," he numbly said.

He didn't know why but that named somehow sounded quite familiar. But why would it? It's not as if he knew any Griselda-

The witch paused. "Well, yes but-"

And Harry somehow _knew_.

He screamed.

"You're Griselda Marchbanks!"

The witch startled. "How do you know that name?" the past version of Griselda Marchbanks asked. "Where did you hear the name March-"

"Because it's your name. You're Griselda Marchbanks."

"No, no, no." The previously confident woman nervously shook her head. "My name is Griselda Young."

"Yes, it's your name _today_ but in the future, in the future you're Griselda Marchbanks."

And it should have been obvious. After all, hadn't the old witch said in 1996 she had been Albus Dumbledore's examiner for his NEWTs? That meant she must have also been here for his OWLs. And wasn't Tofty also his former examiner's name?

But that beautiful witch, that angel-

Harry remembered the old witch and shuddered in horror.

 _Clearly_ , time hadn't been very kind to her looks.

And Harry couldn't believe he hadn't realized he knew these people and had to impress them again.

"No really, where did you hear the name of Frank Marchbanks?"

"In the future. Y-You are going to marry this Frank Marchbanks."

The witch looked like a deer in the headlights. "No, no, no that's ridiculous. We don't- I mean he doesn't really- I mean we- _We're just friends_."

Harry blankly looked at her.

"Really!" she insisted, a furious blush on her face.

Harry kept looking at her, considering his next move.

Because Harry understood now. If he wanted to get his O, he had to turn the table on her. But Harry could have a good hand, it meant nothing if he didn't use his trump card correctly.

"I suppose it does not look like it right now," he slowly began as he tried to find the right words. "But I can guarantee you that while you may be Griselda Young today, _tomorrow_ … Tomorrow you will be Griselda Marchbanks."

The witch turned scarlet. Harry leant on his chair and tried to imitate Mesmer's intent look to the best of his abilities as she was drinking her tea in one go.

When she pushed the teacup in his direction, Harry briefly glanced at it before continuing his staring.

No mercy for granny.

"Fascinating what something as innocuous as drinking tea can reveal about a person, no?" he said as if he was talking about the weather. "Admittedly, one must know how to read the leaves but still. Take this cup for example, a few would see there a leaf or a pear while others will see a cat or a wheel. And some will see a baby o-"

"So what now? I'm pregnant?" she snapped.

Harry blinked.

He had never wanted to say that. He had just been fibbing until he could decide what bullshit to sell.

But if the woman was so defensive then maybe…

"You tell me."

For a moment, the woman glared at him. Suddenly, she stilled and, with growing horror, began counting with her fingers once then twice.

There's was something very young and very fragile in her eyes when she stopped counting. As if her whole life had taken a sudden turn and she had no idea what she was supposed to do now.

That's when he knew he's done it. He had his outstanding.

"S-So… Is it a boy or a girl?"

Harry smiled.

"I'll let you keep the surprise."

* * *

"Frank," the priest asked the sweating man in front of him, "do you take Griselda here to be your wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part, according to God's holy ordinance?"

The groom sweated and looked around. "W-Well, I… that is to say-"

When the man looked at her, Galatea revealed her wand.

"Of course I do!" he hurriedly answered.

She smiled.

She was such a good friend, Galatea thought as the couple exchanged rings. Maybe Frank would have made a honest woman out of her friend on his own even after his sudden urge to travel to India but why should they take the risk in light of the most recent event? Wasn't it better to hold the wedding ceremony the same day they discovered the man has knocked up her best friend?

She sighed as the new Griselda Marchbanks kissed her husband. She loved weddings. No wedding could top hers naturally but that one was very nice too and she wished all the happiness in the world for the new family.

Considering her role, she really hoped Griselda was going to make her godmother.

* * *

Harry fell on his bed.

He's done it. He's sat his OWLs. And he hadn't fallen asleep in History of magic.

That was honestly the only bright side, for Harry had sucked in History. Harry would really be lucky to get an A there.

Harry looked at the ceiling and not the first time wondered if he'd have an easier time in the past had he been actually good at history. Wouldn't it have been like having one of Dudley's video games walkthrough?

All Harry could do was parlour tricks. And while that was good in a way, he wished he had more. Like somebody able to tell him he wasn't fucking everything up.

But Mesmer had been clear: he might help him, he was unable to actually give him that reassurance or point him the right path.

What Harry sought, only a time traveller like him with a keen understanding of history could give him that. And Harry didn't think he would ever meet such person.

Harry closed his eyes and sighed.

After nearly a year here, Harry supposed he had no choice but to hope everything was going to be alright.

* * *

Albus had to admit he was relieved the Ordinary Wizarding Level tests were over. Not really because he had found them particularly strenuous, but because his classmates had _finally_ stopped begging to into helping them and asking him to answer even the thriftiest question at the most inopportune time.

He would have to set boundaries for their Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests.

Still, in balance, Fifth Year had been a very good year. Not only had Albus managed to succeed in the goals he had set, he's found other subjects to study in like the concepts of spells like the killing curses summoning more than magic. Also, Albus had to admit he had been very satisfied to watch Gryffindor Quidditch team winning the Quidditch cup and Aberforth's wide grin when he had been asked to sit for the picture of the winning team. Hopefully, that'd be the push he needed to take school more seriously.

Fingers crossed there.

And finally, he thought with a smile as Headmaster Black got up, thanks to his not so meagre help, Gryffindor was once again about to be declared winner for the House Cup.

Like his practical exam, logic and hard work had prevailed over the so-called power of a pendulum.

"Another year ends," Headmaster Black began. "Finally, you will leave this castle and hopefully never come back. Now, before finally getting rid of you, the house cup must be awarded. As of now the points stand thus: in fourth place, Slytherin, with three hundreds points; in third Ravenclaw with three hundreds and eighteen points; in second surprisingly, Hufflepuff, with three hundreds and fourth-six points; and finally, in first place, Gryffindor with three-hundreds and ninety points."

Albus couldn't stop a satisfied smile as storm of cheering and stamping broke out from the Gryffindor table.

The Headmaster lowly chuckled.

"Yes, yes, well done, Gryffindor," said Phineas Nigellus Black. "Well done, Gryffindor, well done Gryffindor. _However_ , recent events must be taken into account."

The smiles slowly vanished when the Gryffindors saw the man's smirk. For whenever the man was giving them that smirk, something terrible happened to Gryffindor.

"No way," Harry next to him breathed. "Don't you dare."

"For you see, I still have a few last-minute points to give. Let me see. Yes... First, to Mr. Phineas Black for his remarkable victory in the gobstone bi-annual competition, I award to Slytherin twenty points."

Feeling the glares directed at him, Phineas shrank in his seat.

"But that's not fair!" Aberforth exclaimed at the end of the table.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor for your outburst, Mr. Dumbledore!" the man snapped.

They were still in first place, Albus tried to reassure himself.

"To Mr. Arcturus Black, for his help during the firecrabs' escape, I award Slytherin twenty points."

The Third year smirked.

"Oh come on!" Aberforth shouted. "I did all the work. That bastard just-"

"Twenty point from Gryffindor for your foul language!" he snapped.

Albus quickly did his math and winced.

"We're tied," Elphias whispered. "We're bloody tied."

"And finally," he took a pause, "to Mr. Horace Slughorn for his help in the infirmary, I award Slytherin twenty points."

This time Albus didn't bother listening how many points Headmaster took for his brother's scream of rage.

They were last, probably.

"Which means," Headmaster Black said over Slytherin's excited whispers, "we need a little change of decoration." He clapped his hands. In an instant, the scarlet hangings became green and the gold became silver. "Slytherin wins the house cup."

The Slytherins got up and cheered, some going as far as smirking in the direction of Gryffindor table or thanking a fuming Aberforth for this easy victory.

"This is karma, isn't it?" Harry said.

"Whether it was karma or not I do not know," Albus replied. "But I must admit in my honest opinion awarding points in such fashion undermines the very spirit of the house cup."

Why, he thought, had he been in the Headmaster's place, he would have never done such thing.

* * *

When Harry took the Hogwarts Express, Harry felt like he had forgotten something important.

He opened his trunk inside his compartment, but everything seemed to be in order.

"What are you going to do this summer, Albus?" Elphias asked as Harry tried to remember what could possibly be missing.

"Nervously expecting the result on the potion competition, I suppose," Albus mused. "And if I do win it, preparing myself for the resulting ceremony. Apart from that, I suppose I will spend my days sulking in my bedroom and awaiting September."

"Trust Albus not to enjoy holidays," Elphias laughed. "You're the only one I know who would rather spend his time at Hogwarts than stay at home."

That's when Harry horrifyingly realized that now that he had left Hogwarts he had nowhere to go.

The train stopped.

Harry stilled as the others in his compartment got up to grab their respective suitcase and bid each other goodbye.

"Until next year, Harry," Albus said as he grabbed his owl cage and left the compartment without looking behind, Elphias soon following him.

How could he have forgotten something like that? he numbly thought. How could he have forgotten that nobody was going to be waiting for him, that he had nowhere to go and not a single knut on him?

Did he give so little importance to his relatives he had never _once_ realized they at least brought him a roof and were the guarantee he'd have a place to eat and sleep no matter what?

Slowly, Harry got up and, as if he was in a dream, grabbed his trunk.

He left the empty train and looked at the almost deserted platform, lost.

On the other side of platform 9 and ¾ was the muggle world. And this time no family was waiting for him.

Harry looked at the wall separating him from the 19th century muggle world, unsure. Finally he went through the wall, leaving the wizarding world behind.

The first thing Harry noticed was the smell. The disgusting smell of smog and manure outside Harry could smell even from where he stood.

Harry violently coughed.

A woman in a light blue Victorian dress looked away as if he was some strange and disgusting creature before entering the car of a train not unlike the one Harry's just left.

That's at this _exact_ instant Harry realized just how fucked he was.

He was in Victorian Lonon. He was in Charles Dickens' London where orphans like Oliver Twist had to work to exhaustion to barely get enough food to live tomorrow. He was in Jack the Ripper's London and could get killed at any time. He was penniless, forbidden to use his wand and he was alone in this cruel and foreign world. He was alone and he was probably _never_ going to go home.

He couldn't breathe, he horrifyingly realized. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. _He couldn't breathe_. He was at King's Cross and he couldn't breathe.

So that was it, Harry thought as his heart began beating like crazy and black spots appeared. That's how he was going to die. He was going to die here. At Kings Cross. In the nineteenth century. Very far from home. Alone.

Alone. Very, very alone.

Somebody grabbed his shoulders.

"Breathe," a faraway voice ordered. "Breathe. Focus on my voice and _breathe_. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale-"

It took a moment for Harry to understand what the voice was saying. When he did he tried to follow its order and hang unto them like a sinking man to a lifebuoy.

Each breath felt like his last. Still, after an eternity the horror seemed to subside and his heart didn't seem like it was going to tear his chest apart and run away.

Finally, colours came back. Green first. Two green dots lost in the darkness. As everything became sharper, Harry realized what he was seeing were not dots but actual eyes. Eyes so familiar he felt like he should recognize them on the spot.

"Feeling better?" the eyes asked and Harry wondered how eyes could talk.

And then Harry realized it were not the eyes that were talking but the man looking at him with said eyes.

A man Harry actually knew for they had met during Mesmer's party.

"Feeling better?" Patrick Evans asked again. "I thought for a second you were a goner here. Now, do you think you will be alright or do you want me to help you find your relatives?"


	25. Black suit and plum robe

Harry looked at the man who had just asked him if he could help him find his relatives in incomprehension.

While it was true Harry had tried not to think about it, it was somehow hard for him to forget Patrick Evans, the man who had somehow discovered during Halloween that he 'hadn't travelled here through space'.

Before Harry could say anything, the man said, "Never mind. It's obvious you weren't expecting anybody to come here."

What were the odds Harry would meet in London the _only_ man outside Hogwarts Harry sort of knew?

"Why are you here?" Harry finally asked.

"Well, I live here," came the swift answer. "Not King's Cross, mind you, but I needed to grab something. What about you? Why on earth are you using the muggle gate if you're _clearly_ not used to the muggle world?"

Harry couldn't stop a wince at the realization he's just lost his marbles in the middle of the station. "The muggle gate," he decided to focus on that.

"Well, I've never been to 9 and ¾ but there must be a chimney there and other magical transportation to bring students home. Why didn't you take them?"

"I didn't know." Harry turned to the wall behind him and carefully put his hand on the cold stone.

"The gate is closed now," the older man remarked. "The station only opens their magical platforms when a train is about to come or leave King's Cross."

"Should we really talk about this sort of thing here?"

"Oh, the statute of secrecy is going to fine. In case you haven't noticed," the man said as he looked around, "you made quite a scene and nobody but me did anything about it. We can try to blame the proximity of the gate and the charms around, the truth is Londoners can be very blind when they don't want to be bothered."

A woman in front of them coughed and walked faster.

"Closest wizarding place now is Diagon Alley. Only thirty minutes by foot to get there."

"R-Right."

But even though Harry suspected he wasn't going to handle the outside world better, Harry also realized reaching the Leaky Cauldron would not change his situation much. After all, Harry did not have a single knut on him to rent a room even for one night.

Harry sharply inhaled to chase the terror threatening to come back.

"Though it is not very far, I must admit I do not feel comfortable letting you go there on your own. Is there somebody you can call or ask for help?"

The first person that immediately came to Harry's mind was Albus. But as soon as that thought crossed his mind he realized how childish or naïve of him it was to think the Gryffindor could get him out of this mess. For one, Albus _still_ didn't know he was a time-traveller. For two, even if he were to say yes, there was no guarantee his parents would let him bring some stranger home.

The second person was Professor Mesmer. There would be no need to explain why he needed a place to stay after all but Harry had to admit the thought didn't sit well with him. The man had already offered to help him, he didn't want to push it or appear needy. But he didn't have much choice, did he?

"I suppose I could send an owl to Professor Mesmer," Harry reluctantly said.

"Mesmer?" The man seemed surprised. "He must have already left the country by now."

Harry _very_ slowly turned his head.

"He makes a few tours during the summer holidays," he explained. "Starts usually with America before coming back to London and ending with Europe. That's what most seers in the guild do really."

That answer dashed all Harry's hope of not ending in the streets.

"You're really sure you cannot call a relative to grab you?"

"Oh I'm an orph-"

Harry abruptly stopped talking. And his heart stopped as he finally realized something enormous.

Harry Potter might be an orphan in 1996, it didn't have to be true in 1897. In fact, it _couldn't_ be true.

 _Somewhere_ , there was another man whose last name was Potter. _Somewhere_ , there was a man who would have a son who would become Harry's grandfather. _Somehow_ , even though he had lost everything else, Harry had his family back.

Harry difficultly swallowed at the enormity of what that meant.

"So there _is_ somebody."

Yes, there was. There was somebody because Harry had his family back. And there was nothing Harry wanted to do more than shouting it in the middle of the station and let some great-grandfather snatch him away from this hell and bring him to meet a family that would be undoubtedly _his_.

Harry opened his mouth to answer with an enthusiastic _yes_.

But, as he was about to say it, the elation Harry's been feeling was swept away as a terrible thought came to him.

"W-What if they don't like me?"

There was something almost sad in Mr. Evans' eyes.

Harry looked away.

He was a time-traveller, he couldn't help thinking, and none of them knew him. There was no reason for them to welcome him with open arms. They could call him a liar and close the door on him, they could be like the Dursleys and merely tolerate his presence. Or maybe Harry would tell them what his life was like only to realize that, somehow, Harry was falling short in their eyes.

And if Harry had learned not to be upset by the situation at Privet Drive, he was aware young Harry Potter had dreamed too much about this moment not be destroyed even by mere indifference.

"Very well, then," Mr. Evans sighed. "I suppose there is no other choice then. You're coming with me."

Harry abruptly turned his head. "What?" he numbly asked;

He shrugged. "Well, considering how well you're blending in, somebody is going to steal your trunk before you reach the Leaky Cauldron. If I don't think your death will matter much in the great scheme, I prefer to see as few obliviators as possible. And while living in the streets does forge character, I doubt Mesmer will be very impressed with my excuse if he learns I've let one of his students there."

Harry didn't know what to say. Finally, he settled for, "I don't need your pity."

"You don't," the man acknowledged. "Pity is very often useless but there's a difference between pity and empathy. Also, you don't have many choices there."

"… What makes you think I don't have a place to go?"

"Basically everything."

Harry flinched.

"Also," Evans said, "you strike me as the sort of person to go on an epic quest to save the world only to starve in the middle of a forest because he hadn't even _considered_ bringing food on his trip."

For some reason it was that remark that hurt Harry the most. "I would not," he feebly protested.

But Evans didn't seem convinced. "I hope you realize you got yourself into this mess because you hadn't even _considered_ what you were going to do after leaving Hogwarts. How old are you?"

"… Sixteen."

"Meaning that in a few months you will legally be an adult. You will soon be expected to effectively take care of yourself and you haven't even considered seeking a place to sleep. The real world does not forgive such basic mistakes, Mister Potter, and you will not survive this summer if you refuse my help."

Harry gritted his teeth. "I will."

Evans sighed. "Being an adult is also learning to swallow some misguided pride when it gets in the way of your survival. You may believe to be tough or acting like a responsible person, you're being very childish right now."

Harry tightened his fists.

The worst thing was Harry was perfectly aware the man was correct. Harry just _couldn't_ survive in muggle London.

"Th-Thank you, sir," he said through gritted teeth. "I-I appreciate your help."

"No you don't," the man said, "but the first time you swallow your pride is always the worst so I appreciate the lie. It gets easier over time, don't worry."

"There will not be another time," Harry swore.

Evans laughed as he began heading in the direction of the exit. "Work for it then."

* * *

There had been very little books at number four Privet Drive.

With the exception of the rags Aunt Petunia would dutifully read to learn whose celebrity was sleeping with whom, reading to the Dursleys was something only arrogant people thinking themselves better than everybody else did. Normal people did not read books outside schools or work, they watched TV like everybody.

Naturally, what Aunt Petunia enjoyed watching after cleaning the house were soap operas and romantic movies set in the 'good old days of the British empire'. And Harry trapped in his cupboard had been the poor victim stuck listening to Dallas theme song and numerous pompous Victorian soap operas where gentlemen would fight to the death for that lovely lady's hand.

Harry was certain his aunt would stop enjoying these period movies if she just knew just how much Victorian London stank.

Harry violently coughed, overwhelmed by the disgusting smell.

Also pollution, probably.

"You get used to it, eventually."

Harry looked at the man. "Diagon Alley didn't stink like that."

"Of course it doesn't, there are cleaning charms there. Some purebloods said muggles are poisoning the air and killing everybody with that smog so they placed several charms in all wizarding streets and houses. For once, I agree with them."

In front of them, a carriage driven by two horses passed by.

 _Horses_.

But the man paid the creatures no attention and walked away.

Harry cursed and ran before the man could vanish and leave him in that hell.

Harry tried to ignore the muggles around him. He tried not to think about these clothes he had only seen in television before, about the streets and how little they were like those he knew.

Was it really London?

Harry hadn't even finished his thought a bell started ringing.

"Is that… Is that Big Ben?" Harry asked, not quite believing it.

"It is. Probably the only clock besides mine I trust with the time." Evans' lips suddenly twitched. "My father worked on the clock, you see. Charmed it to always be accurate."

"Oh," he said as the bell kept ringing.

Harry suddenly realized he had been focusing so much on the differences and what had yet to come he had entirely missed what was already there.

* * *

They entered the smallest building of a narrow street. They then took the stairs to reach the last floor.

As Mr. Evans was searching for his keys, he winced.

"I suppose I should warn you. My wife, she- How can I say it? She-"

The door in front of them abruptly opened.

"Your wife what?" The woman at the other side of the door said. "Choose your next words carefully, Patrick."

Mrs Evans was a tall and thin woman. With her dark hair pulled into a high bun and the apron on her light blue dress, she looked exactly like what Harry had thought women in Victorian were like.

"… You brought another stray," the woman told her husband.

"That I did."

She looked Harry up and down, as if he was a disgusting bug.

"… is he one of _them_?"

The man grimaced. "Possibly."

She glared at her husband. "Well, what are you waiting for?" she snapped. "Get in before the neighbours see you."

Once the two men entered the small apartment, she closed the door.

"In my defence," Mr. Evans tried, "this one looked really pathetic."

"What?" Harry exclaimed.

She scoffed. "They all look pathetic with you. And honestly, can't his sort just-"

She abruptly stopped when their eyes met.

"Patrick," she said, turning to her husband.

Mr. Evans looked away.

She didn't say for a moment. Finally she sighed.

"Fine, fine. You win. You," she said, pointing a finger in Harry's direction, "you may stay but let's be clear: there are going to be a few ground rules here. First thing first, I don't want you to do _any_ of your stuff here, understand? Or see any of your stuff. I don't want to hear even a whisper of your kind. You understand? We. Are. Normal. And I want _nothing_ reminding me I have to bear with your sort, get it?"

"Now, Maggie that's a bit-"

But Harry raised a hand.

"I got this."

For the first time since he came here, the world made sense and Harry knew what he was supposed to do.

"I'll make myself forgotten," he promised. "You won't even see me and you won't even remember I'm here."

Maggie Evans suspiciously looked at him. "Well," she said, "good."

"I'll even sleep in the cupboard under the stairs if you want."

She scoffed. "I'm certainly not going to move my brooms for his Majesty. No, you take the couch like _normal_ people. Also, Patrick will lend you something decent to wear. Immediately. So take off your dress-"

"It's a robe!" Harry outrageously said.

"Well, it's the same thing really," she stiffly replied.

"No, it's not!"

"Yes, it is. And I don't know how it works with your lot, but I won't tolerate you wearing women's clothes here. My home, my rules."

"You're not going to twiddle your thumbs either," she continued. "You're going to work here, Mister. I know your lot doesn't know what that word means, you _are_ going to learn it."

Thus followed a list of tasks Harry was supposed to do in order to earn his stay.

A lone tear left his eye. "Yes, ma'am."

The woman stopped and slowly moved in her husband's direction.

"What's wrong with him?" she whispered in his ear. "Apart from the obvious."

Mr. Evans shrugged. "I think he likes being told what to do."

She drew back.

"Wow, what a freak."

* * *

It took Harry a moment to remember where he was the next day. When he did he sighed.

He couldn't say he liked having to rely on the Evans for his survival. At the same time however, it was clear he didn't really have a choice.

Leaving the couch and taking the too big and faded clothes somebody had thrown on him, he began preparing himself.

Mrs Evans only glanced at him when he came for breakfast.

"Morning."

"Morning," she absent-mindedly replied, her attention on some antic stove.

"Do you want me to help you with that?" Harry asked, pointing at the stove.

She startled and turned to Harry. After strangely looking at him she answered, "I don't need your help. I can perfectly take care of breakfast myself. If you want to annoy somebody, go annoy my husband. What's he supposed to do by the way, Patrick?"

It was then Harry saw the man feeding a flock of white doves by the window.

The man hummed as he gave bread to the birds. "I don't know, what do you think you're supposed to do now, Mister Potter?"

Harry took a pause.

It seemed like the man was expecting a certain answer but Harry couldn't figure out what it could be.

"Do my homework?" he tried before wincing at how childish that sounded.

Harry could almost hear him rolling his eyes. "While I'm sure this must seem important to you, don't you think there is something that could be a little more urgent at the present moment?" Turning to Harry and seeing his confused face he sighed. "How are you going to pay for your books?"

Ah.

He didn't know if him not even considering the monetary problem was the result of him flying by the seat of his pants or the fact he had never needed to worry about money before coming in the past. Probably both. But the more he was thinking about it, the more he realized just how urgent the problem actually was. For one, Harry would have to buy his books and even clothes as Phineas Nigellus Black had taken away the scholarship Dippet had granted. For two, he still owed Hogwarts money and Harry was certain that if the man had not talked about it this year, Phineas Nigellus Black had certainly not forgotten and was going to demand his due soon enough.

"I should try to find a job, I guess. I just… I just don't know where to start."

Mrs Evans scoffed. "Figure your lot does not work."

"Maggie."

She humphed.

"With the current exchange rate it is better for you to seek work in the wizarding side of London," Mr. Evans told Harry. "That is if you manage to secure something there because there is very little work for underage wizards."

Harry slowly nodded. "I suppose I'd go to Diagon Alley and see what I can find then." He paused, wondering how on earth he was supposed to go there without getting lost in victorian London. "Which way is Diagon alley?"

The man took a hat on the doornail. "Fortunately for you, the Leaky Cauldron is not far from where I'm going. If we hurry up, you can be there before the shops open."

Harry hurried and soon the two men left the apartment.

"What do I do if there isn't work at Diagon Alley?" Harry couldn't help asking on their way. "Will I have to work in the muggle world?"

Harry suddenly remembered a book he had read about the harsh working conditions of Victorian England and tried not to wince.

The man briefly looked at him. "Make sure you don't have to find out."

* * *

"Well, I wouldn't say _no_ to somebody helping here," Madam Malkins reluctantly admitted after much harassment on Harry's part. "It's just… I don't want to spend time training them."

"Oh, you don't have to," Harry hurried. "This isn't the first time I'm selling stuff. You won't have to do _anything_. I'm very good at selling stuff. I can sell _anything_."

The witch blankly looked at him, clearly unconvinced by the lie.

This was the only person in Diagon Alley whose answer for a job hadn't been a clear no and Harry was now desperate.

"Let me prove it to you."

She sighed. "I suppose letting you work here today isn't going to be the end of the world." She got up and summoned the most extravagant purple robe from the male section. "Very well then, you're going to work here for free today. If you manage to sell this today, I hire you."

She looked at what he was wearing and winced.

With a flick of her wand, Harry's muggle clothes shrank until it finally fitted, the faded colours brightening until Harry could fool himself into believing these clothes were brand new and custom-made.

"If I am satisfied with your work today, you may keep this. Now get to work."

Sadly, if Harry had learnt a thing or two in bullshitting his way out, his knowledge in clothing was inexistent. And if the witches would usually giggle at his spluttering mess, the wizards only got annoyed at explaining how terrible he was and Harry knew showing the garnement he was expected to sell would only push them into leaving the shop on the spot.

One hour before the shop closing, Harry was starting to feel desperate. Already he was seeing himself sweeping chimneys before falling to his death or screwing nuts in an assembly line before turning insane.

Harry paused and deeply breathed, trying not to lose it in the middle of the shop.

It didn't matter how he was going to do it, Harry was going to find a moron and do _anything_ to insure he was going to buy this thing.

Now who would be mad enough to buy purple robes?

The bell on the door rang and Harry turned his head to see the idiot he was going to nag.

Albus brightly smiled when he saw him.

"Well, hello Harry."

* * *

Albus twirled in front of the mirror several times.

"I don't know..." he hesitantly said, dressed in the robes Harry had given him. "Plum is not really this year's colour. I also don't really know in which occasion I will manage to wear it. Really, I'm not sure if I actually should wear such bold clothes. What if people stop treating me seriously and start thinking I'm just another lunatic?"

" _You're Dumbledore_!"

Every since Harry had showed him the robe, it had been clear the auburn-haired loved it. For some reason however the man had been trying to convince himself buying the robe was a terrible idea.

And Harry couldn't allow him to leave without the robe.

"It's clear you love it so why are you hesitating?"

" _Because_ ," Albus said, "while I do love this robe others may not-"

"So what?"

Albus startled.

"You love it. That's the only thing that matters, no?"

Albus didn't say anything for a moment. "I really don't see when I would wear it though," he softly said.

Harry ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

He paused as he thought about something.

"That potion competition," he slowy began, "there's going to be a ceremony for the winner, right?"

Albus' eyes widened, clearly knowing already where Harry was going. "You cannot possible say that I should-"

"When you win it and you go to get your trophy, what are you going to wear?"

"Now, now," Albus half-heartedly said, "while I am flattered to see how highly you think of me, I must say it is just possible that some student from Dumstran- My school robes."

Harry could literally taste in these three words how little Albus thought of their uniform.

"Why wearing something you don't like for your big day when you can wear something you clearly love?"

Albus paused a moment. He looked at himself in the mirror.

"You know," he slowly began, "while I appreciate what you're trying to do, I can't help noticing you've never once told me what you thought about me wearing this."

Harry blinked at that realization. "Does it really matter, what I think?"

Albus looked away. Then, in an hesitant voice, he said, "Maybe."

Harry paused, not quite knowing what to say.

If he was being honest, he hadn't really thought about whether or not the robe fitted him nor had he truly paid any attention to how the man looked.

"Can you twirl again?"

Without a word, Albus slowly did as he was told.

Harry knew Albus Dumbledore was not an ugly man. In his impeccable robes and neatly brushed hair, many witches couldn't help turning their head when the prefect was near and Harry himself had wondered once or twice how that handsome boy could one day become the kind old man in silly clothes Harry knew in the future.

But this man in front of him looked better. Fuller. More complete. It was as if without them noticing they had found a missing piece of the puzzle that was Albus Dumbledore. And it was suddenly clear to Harry that _this_ was how Albus Dumbledore was always meant to be.

"You look… good. Really good."

He then looked away in embarrassement.

"… I can say the same to you."

Harry startled and sharply turned his head, stunned.

But Albus kept looking at the mirror, face red.

For a moment, he didn't know what to say. "Really?" Harry asked, cheeks suddenly feeling very warm.

The auburn-haired mutely nodded.

Not knowing what to do and suddenly unable to look at the other man, Harry sought the closest mirror Albus was not using.

At first Harry thought it was obvious why a tailor such as Madam Malkins would want her seller to look good and charm his clothes to fit him. But the more Harry looked at the black railhead pants and white shirt, the shiny black boots and what Harry now knew was called a fock coat lined with red butterflies pattern, the more he realized that these clothes had always been this way and Harry hadn't noticed they had once been quality clothes before suffering from the damages of time.

"I'm sure that's why you picked them," he heard Albus hesitantly saying.

Harry looked at his reflection, wondering if that stranger in the mirror was truly him. "You know," he slowly said, "when you live with the Dursleys and get your cousin's hand me downs because they don't give a damn about you, you learn to stop caring about that sort of thing."

His recollections of horrible haircuts and three sizes too large rags were interrupted when he heard a soft voice saying, "You know, somebody told me I should stop caring about what people will think of me and just wear what I like. Maybe you should do the same and start caring about yourself."

* * *

"So why did you come here?" Harry asked as he took the silver coins Albus was handing him.

Albus, still dressed in his plum robe, gasped. "I was asked to buy something. I can't believe I forgot." He checked the clock on the wall and grimaced. "I know you probably wish to leave as soon as possible but it shouldn't take long so is it possible if-"

"What do you need?"

"Yarn."

Harry startled. "It's June."

"Knitting is life, knitting is love," Albus said, clearly repeating what somebody had told him. Opening the bag where he had put his old robes, he retrieved from a pocket a list. "I was given clear instructions on what to bring back." After a moment's hesitation he handed Harry the list.

Harry frowned to decrypt the crammed words on the page, wondering if that mysterious knitter could be Albus' mother. "I'll try to find where Madam Malkins put the yarn."

As Harry put the correct drawer on the table between them and was trying to find everything on the list, Albus pointed at one ball of yarn changing colour every three seconds. "I'd like this one too, please."

Harry was about to put said ball in the bag when Albus said, "It may be better if you do not put it there. It's- it's a gift, you see. For her coming birthday."

Harry put the ball of yarn out of the bag. "Do you want me to wrap it?"

After Albus answering by the affirmative, Harry sought the wrapping paper. Once he found it, he finally realized he had no idea how he was supposed to do it.

After struggling with the wrapping paper for several minutes, Albus deciding in the middle to join the fight, Harry went to the backshop, took the smallest box he could find, put the ball of yarn inside and uneremoniously wrapped it.

"I cannot thank you enough," Albus told him after pocketing the gift and taking the bag. "I'm sure she's going to love it."

"No, no, it's me who should thank you." Seeing Albus raising an eyebrow he decided to change subject. "Tell her happy birthday for me, will you?"

Albus strangely looked at him for a moment and Harry thought for a few seconds he had just crossed some line there and shouldn't have said anything.

But Albus finally gave him a small smile. "I'll relay the message. I'm sure she will be very touched."

* * *

Mr. Evans seemed surprised to see him once Harry finally left Diagon Alley.

He then softly smiled. "I must say Madam Malkins is a talented witch to bring this old thing back to life. I would have thought Maggie would have thrown my old work clothes by now."

Suddenly remembering the clothes Harry currently had were not his but the man's, he said, "She charmed it for work but I can ask her to-"

He raised a hand. "Don't bother. It didn't fit me anymore and I had grown tired of it. It's also good for you to have something that doesn't make you look like a street rat."

Harry sweat-dropped.

"It's also giving me an idea," the man added as he started walking away from the Leaky Cauldron, Harry quickly following him. "While I usually am able to get by, I wouldn't say no to some help at work. As a way to pay me back, you can help me tonight."

Harry startled and thought about it a moment. "I suppose I could. Just... What do you do for a living, sir?"

But the man lowly chuckled and didn't answer his question.

When the two of them approached a theater, he finally pointed at a poster.

When Harry realized the man on the poster was Mr. Evans and what he was doing, his jaw fell.

Patrick Evans was a magician.


	26. The Vanishing Cabinet

"Imagine a world where magic roams free," the man on stage began. "A world of wonders where dragons, unicorns and other fantastic beasts are not gone but merely waiting for somebody to find them. Imagine a world where nature's laws are bending to the will of man. Tonight, ladies and gentlemen, I will allow you to take a glimpse of this wondrous world. And once you leave this theater you will wonder..."

The man's emerald eyes looked at the captivated audience. Finally, he slyly smiled and opening his hand a white dove suddenly appeared.

"What if this world is closer than we think?"

* * *

Harry was still snickering after the show.

That had been the biggest breach in the Statute of secrecy he had ever witnessed and probably ever would. The man had first appeared to be conjuring several doves one after the other, lazily talking about the wizarding world. When the man had given him the previously agreed signal Harry had entered the scene pushing a trolley with a wardrobe on it.

Or, as Patrick Evans had called it, the vanishing cabinet.

"It's the first time I'm using the vanishing cabinet," Mr. Evans said when Harry talked about it. "I must admit I didn't expect the audience to enjoy it so much. I'm even starting to think this one will become a classic if I play it right."

The man stopped talking when he spotted near the door to his room a brown-haired man with the bushiest mustache Harry had ever seen.

The man turned around and seeing them pointed a finger in Mr. Evans direction.

"Twins."

Mr. Evans burst to laugh. "This is the fifth time you're giving me the twins explanation, inspector. Where does this fascination you have with them even come from?"

"Yes, I'm saying it's twins because it's twins! This is the only way this trick can work-"

"Allow me to correct you on this point, inspector. It doesn't have to be twins, it can sometimes be triplets." Seeing the man growling he smiled. "Why is it so hard for you to believe magic is real?"

"Oh _please._ " The man rolled his eyes. "If magic was real I think everybody would know by now."

"Maybe they do. Food for thought, inspector: what if _everybody_ knows magic is real and your lot are _the only ones_ not in the known? Just imagine: an entire society with its own laws and its own police whose sole goal is to insure honest people like you never find the truth."

The man scoffed and Mr. Evans grinned. "I know your sort makes it a point in keeping how your magic tricks are done a secret," he dryly replied, "but really? An entire police insuring your secrets stay that way? Where do you even get such ridiculous ideas?"

"If you know we make a point in keeping our secrets secret, why are you still trying to get me to confess how it's done then?"

"I'll find out how it's done," the inspector said, pointing a finger at the unimpressed magician. "And when I see through you magic tricks, you and your friends will stop nabbing people and everybody will finally realize you're nothing but frauds and leave behind all these silly concepts like magic in the past where they belong."

Mr. Evans shrugged and pleasantly smiled. "You're welcome to try, inspector. Still, what a boring world you want us to live in."

But the man had already walked away.

Mr. Evans amusedly shook his head and opened the door to his suite. "If this isn't a sign it was a good night..."

As the two entered the room Harry couldn't help noticing besides the cage filled with white doves on the table the numerous posters on the walls of Mr. Evans in the most classical magician clothes Harry had ever seen and doing outrageous magic tricks. In one he was a mind-reader, in another he was growing an orange tree and Harry couldn't help snickering when he spotted one where the man he was cutting a woman in two.

"So," the man said as he was taking off his magician cape, "if you help me here the whole summer, your mission will be to make sure people such as the good detective you've met do not go near the vanishing cabinet and other artefacts I use for my shows and bring them to me when I ask."

"Sure."

"You may also help me on stage but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it." Taking the glass of whiskey on the table nearby he started drinking. "Considering who your teacher is, I assume this part shouldn't be too difficult."

Harry frowned. "My teacher?"

With a finger Mr. Evans pointed a poster on the far left.

On it was drawed two very familiar blue eyes.

 _THE HYPNOTIC MESMER ON SCENE_

Harry sweat-dropped. "Is this actually legal?" he weakly asked.

Mr. Evans's green eyes shined in amusement. "Who knows? You will find out, Mr. Potter, that here in London very few things are black and white and that the frontier between our two worlds is far blurrier than you can possibly imagine."

* * *

Harry's first weeks in the muggle world were relatively calm, all things considered.

In the morning Harry would wake up and go to Madam Malkins' to work and attempt to sell something and in the evenings Harry would protect the vanishing cabinet, a task that happened to be far more complicated that it looked as Harry found out when he spotted one day a street child trying to get in the room where the cabinet was stocked through the air conducts.

A few pennies from Mr. Evans managed to loosen his tongue and soon Harry knew that 'a bobby' with an enormous mustache had asked him to check what was inside the vanishing cabinet.

"And he paid you handsomely, I assume," Mr. Evans concluded.

The eight-years old grinned. "Getting in there must be dangerous," he said in a heavy cockney accent. "I could never come back."

The man laughed.

Once the boy was gone Harry asked, "Does this happen often?"

"Often enough I'm not surprised anymore. Mind you, I'm pretty sure he's not really sending kids for the cabinet. Still, he's rather ingenious actually so look at everything and suspect anything. Did you check the cabinet by the way?"

Harry shook his head. "I know how vanishing cabinets work so..."

The man blinked and shook his head. "I suppose that was to be expected. Oh well, as long as nobody bothersome checks it… That reminds me," he said as he snapped his fingers, "I want your wand."

Harry startled. "Why would you need my wand?" he asked, defensive.

Mr. Evans strangely smiled. "I don't need it actually. I just want to put it somewhere safe." Seeing Harry's wary face he sighed. "You're not supposed to use magic here in case you've forgotten already, and bringing a wand in this place can bring you a lot of troubles. When you're here, you must put it away and keep it somewhere safe where nobody can find it. It's not as if you'd need it anyway."

But Harry couldn't help feeling uneasy. The idea of not feeling the wand's comforting weight was filling him with dread.

"What if something happens and I need it?"

"What do you think is going to happen in less than three hours?"

"W-Well, we could- We could get attacked."

"In a _theater_?"

"W-well you never know. It could happen."

Mr. Evans sighed and pinched his nose. "Even if something happens," he said in a low voice, "you are not allowed to use magic. I know you don't see it this way but you're using your wand as a security blanket."

"I'm not!" he vehemently protested.

"Yes, you are. I'm sure the idea of having a wand nearby is comforting and you feel safer with it on reach but there will be times when you just have to do without it. And when that time comes, what are you going to do if you've never learned to get by? I have asked very little of you, Mister Potter, but this is a rule you must abide here. Within this theater, your wand stays in a hiding place I'll show you. Is that understood?"

Harry bit his tongue and desperately tried to find something to prove the man he needed it but the magician's green eyes were making it clear nothing was going to change his mind.

So, _very_ slowly, Harry retrieved his holly wand.

"It's a bad habit you've taken," Mr. Evans said as he took his wand. "Relying too much on _one_ thing and hoping your wand will be the cure-all. Hopefully we'll manage to cure that before it gets too ingrained. Now I'll show you where to put it and you get back to work."

But even though he knew that realistically he wouldn't have used it at all, Harry couldn't help feeling the rest of the evening very naked.

* * *

On the 10th of July, Albus came back with a magazine on hand.

"Page twenty," he just said.

Harry turned the pages and burst to laugh.

On page twenty was a picture that would have appeared to be black and white if not for the very happy auburn-haired boy in plum robes holding a trophy.

Albus grinned.

"And it was only you in colours there?" Harry couldn't help asking between two laughs. "Really?"

He chuckled. "I may have checked my sleeve once or twice to confirm I hadn't become colourblind. The journalist was so shocked he even keeps mentionning my robes in the article."

It was true. The very first sentence of the article even was: 'Dressed in plum for the ceremony, Albus Dumbledore shows us once again breaking conventions is sometimes necessary to advance in the potionmaking field.'

"Everybody was looking at me," Albus added. "I thought at first it was a bad thing but then I realized that actually was quite the opposite. Who knew the key to success was actually a good tailor?"

"Well then," Harry said as he closed the magazine, "it was a pleasure to help."

Albus raised a hand when he handed the magazine to him. "Oh I bought another one. You can keep it if you want as a- as a souvenir."

Harry blinked and glanced at the newspaper, not quite knowing what to say.

"You don't have to naturally," Albus hurried. "I just thought- Well I thought that maybe you'd- Maybe you'd like a memento of that time you sold something so extravagant everybody couldn't stop talking about it."

For a moment Harry didn't say anything and only looked at that grinning red-haired boy in plum clothes in a sea of back and white.

Finally he smiled. "I suppose that's something worth boasting. Being responsible of Albus Dumbledore's fashion sense."

Albus gave him a soft smile.

He then told Harry that since he now had an image to uphold he needed a new wardrobe.

* * *

An owl came to the Evans on the 13th of July.

It took a moment for Harry to realize that was his OWL results.

He swore and hurriedly took the letter. When he had it in his hands he paused.

He knew he had done relatively well but how well exactly? More than that, would his marks be better than those he would have gotten in the twentieth century? And when was he going to even hold his OWL results from 1996?

Mr. Evans looked at the letter from behind his shoulder. "Ah right," he said as he saw the seal.

"What is this, Patrick?" his wife asked.

"Looks like he's got his Ordinary Wizarding Levels results." Seeing her frowning he explained further. "It's the test wizards sit to get their qualification and show when they're applying for a job."

"I thought it was the NEWTs," Harry said.

"That one's only for very qualified jobs if I remember correctly. Or for teaching "

Harry looked at the emerald letters on the envelope for a long moment, not daring to open it.

"Oh for God sake," Mrs Evans said before taking the letter from his numb hands. Opening it she glanced at the results and winced.

"What, What's wrong?"

Mrs Evans didn't answer.

"Give it to me," her husband told her. Once the letter was in his hands he winced.

Harry's heart fell. "That bad?"

But Mr. Evans didn't answer and kept reading. Once he turned the page he rolled his eyes.

"Figure they explain the markings on the last page. Classic." Giving the letter back to Harry he told his wife, "The circles are not zeros, they're the letter O for Outstanding."

ORDINARY WIZARDING LEVEL TESTS

Astronomy O

Care of magical creatures O

Charms O

Defence Against the Dark Arts O

Divination O

Herbology O

History of magic P

Potions O

Transfiguration O

"He didn't flunk his tests," Mr. Evans told his wife. "He's got top marks. Quite an achievement really. How does it feel?"

Harry was too busy gaping to answer.

It had to be a fluke, he thought. Somebody surely made a mistake somewhere, that couldn't be possible he got such high marks. And maybe he deserved an Outstanding in Defence and Divination but in Potions and Transfiguration and everything else? No way.

But Albus had implied he should receive an Outstanding in Transfiguration and had harassed him enough with mock tests he had basically done the real ones on autopilot. After two entire years preparing himself for the same test over and over, it had hardly felt like a challenge. Was he really worthy of such marks or did he just work for so long he was past such questions? Like a child learning math, did it mean anything if a man solved the same equation without a thought? He wasn't some genius, he had just worked more than everybody else on these bloody OWLs.

But Mrs Evans scoffed when he said that. "And what's wrong with hard work?" she dryly asked. "A man who works hard is worth ten so-called geniuses who give up at the first difficulty. Who cares if the one solving the equation is a child or a man? All that matters is the answer."

"Agreed," Mr. Evans said. "Geniuses may have a head-start, it may not mean anything if they don't work hard. What's that story about the slow animal that beats the fast one again?" he asked his wife.

"The tortoise and the hare?"

"These two." He nodded. "You may be the tortoise, you still reach the finish line and who cares how long it takes? Some never do."

Harry didn't answer. Slowly he read his results again.

His lips stretched into a humourless smile. "I still got Poor in History."

"That only means you still have to to work hard on it. If you do, you'll probably know more than everybody else. Now you should probably hurry up before you are officially late for work."

Harry cursed and hurriedly finished breakfast before running to Madam Malkins'. At nine o'clock Albus came and after warmly congratulating him showed him his own OWL results.

As expected, he got Outstanding in literally _everything_.

Some hares, Harry decided, were running so fast he seriously doubted he'd ever see that one's tail.

* * *

Mr. Evans cursed when he checked his fob watch before his show.

It wasn't rare to see Mr. Evans taking a look at his golden watch and see him hitting the watch crystal with a finger. After a few days Harry had reached the conclusion the object was not a muggle watch and did more than tell the time. What it truly showed however, he didn't have the faintest idea.

"Change of plan," he told Harry as he closed the watch and put it in his pocket. "We won't be using the vanishing cabinet today." Pointing said cabinet on the trolley he said, "Once you've put it back in the storage room you go home."

"What but-"

"Do as you're told."

Harry opened his mouth to protest but the man had already entered the scene.

Not knowing what else to do, Harry took the trolley and pushed it to the storage room, wondering what had driven Mr. Evans to forego the vanishing cabinet part so suddenly.

Harry turned left and abruptly stopped when he spotted a man with a big mustache.

"What now?" Harry snapped.

But the inspector seemed hesitant. "I know I must seem presumptuous but does your father know anybody who'd be… eccentric enough to wear a ruff?"

Harry was about to blurt out where on earth the man got the idea he and Mr. Evans were related but hearing the rest of the sentence paused.

Ruffs had been out of fashion for centuries. And while the seers he knew were definitely eccentric, he doubted any of them would choose these sort of clothing if they wanted to blend in the muggle world. Or bother with trying to blend in.

"Why?" he asked.

The man hesitated. "A man asked me questions. About that vanishing cabinet over there."

Harry looked at the vanishing cabinet. "What did they want with it?"

"To know how it worked." The inspector snorted. "Seemed to believe it was magical; I kept telling them there is no such thing as magic and it most probably has a secet passage leading to the ground where there must be a hidden trapdoor leading to the other end of the theater but they refused to listen. They also asked me if I knew where it was but I-"

But Harry wasn't listening anymore.

It was clear these people were wizards, and Harry had pretty good idea why wizards would ask questions about the vanishing cabinet, who they were and what they wanted.

Suddenly Mr. Evans refusing to use it tonight made an awful lot of sense.

The older man closely looked at him. "So they mean trouble," he stated.

Harry didn't answer and pushed the trolley, almost running as he went to hide the vanishing cabinet.

The ministry wasn't going to get him this time.

Once the cabinet was in the storage room and carefully hidden behind other massive artefacts he ran to Mr. Evans' rooms in hope to grab his wand before the wizards could find him.

The inspector was already there, pressing a ear against the closed wooden door. Without a word, he moved to let Harry do the same.

"-nor," Harry heard Mr. Evans saying. "Truly, this is quite an honour you're giving me. Who would have thought that Aurors would be coming to my shows when _I'm sure_ they are busy trying to catch very dangerous dark wizards? Aren't you just _a tiny_ overqualified for this sort of things, Brutus? Have you even warned your colleagues you were about to deal with a dangerous man such as-"

"Shut up, Squib."

The inspector frowned.

"Look at yourself," the voice continued. "Playing wizards when you haven't got even a drop of magic in you. And _that vanishing cabinet_ , how pathetic can you get?"."

"Allow me to correct you," Mr. Evans coldly replied. "There is more magic in my little finger than there is in your entire family tree."

A pause. Then a scream. "You think you're being funny?" the man shouted and the detective startled. "You want me to teach your place again, is that what you want?"

"Stay here," the man ordered.

Before Harry could stop him, the man opened the door and entered the room. He then closed the door.

"Scotland Yard," Harry heard, "I will ask you to-"

A loud noise left the room and without even thinking Harry opened the door and entered the room, his hand reaching for his pocket.

His pocket where his wand desperately was not.

The last thing Harry saw was a dark-haired man pointing his wand at him.

* * *

 _A/N For Harry's OWL results they were mostly based on how Harry fared in OotP. I know we like to call Harry lazy and/or dumb but he actually got excellent marks. O in DADA, E in Charm, Potion, Transfiguration, CoMC... His only less than E marks were History of magic, Astronomy and Divination and even then Hagrid got attacked during the Astronomy practical exam so we can give him some leeway and assume he could have scraped an E._  
 _Considering Harry had another year to prepare these OWLs, has an entire century of innovation on his side and Albus Dumbledore helping him it is quite natural than these Es slowly turn into Os._  
 _No luck for History of magic though. He still is pants at it._


	27. The Show must go on Part1

Harry woke up with a killing headache.

He put his hand on his head and groaned.

"Ah, you're finally awake."

Harry turned his head in the direction of the voice. When he saw the Mr. Evans' face, the headache only got worse and he hissed in pain.

"Wh-What happened?" he asked.

"What happened," Mr. Evans dryly answered, "is that I gave you _one_ order and you disobeyed it. I wish I could ask you what on earth you were thinking but I think it's clear that you were not thinking in the first place."

Harry grimaced as he tried to remember what order he could have possibly ignored to make the man so unhappy.

Except he couldn't. No matter how hard he tried, his headache only got worse.

He knew he had left Madam Malkin's and entered the theatre but after that Harry was drawing a blank.

Mr. Evans gave a loud sigh. "Shortly before tonight representation I asked you to put the vanishing cabinet in the storage room, leave the theatre and go home," he began explaining. "What you did however is come back with the detective over there, something I _definitely_ didn't want to happen."

It was only then Harry noticed the unconscious man sitting in an armchair on his left.

It didn't make sense, Harry couldn't help thinking. Going back and bringing a muggle to see Mr. Evans, which reason could drive him to do this?

Come to think of it, why would Mr. Evans ask him to put the vanishing cabinet _before_ the show? Why would the man forgo his main magic trick and ask him to go home?

Harry hissed but tried to ignore the pain. Somehow it seemed important. He didn't know why but Harry got the feeling this was the key behind everything. Now, why would the man forgo the vanishing cabinet?

"Were there wizards in the audience?" he tried.

The man blinked.

"One," he finally answered. Seeing Harry looking at him he grimly smiled. "In case you meet him again his name is Brutus Greengrass. He and I have known each other for a long time but ever since he became an Auror he has become more troublesome. He came to cause troubles regarding my cabinet and, well, this," he said, pointing at the posters in the room. "I usually know how to handle him but the two of you _clearly_ thought I needed some rescuing. It must be said," he dryly added, "this 'rescue attempt' was rather underwhelming. The inspector I can more or less forgive but why on earth would you reveal yourself like you did and attempt to duel him _when you did not even have your wand_?"

"You said I wouldn't need it!" Harry protested.

Mr. Evans scoffed. "Do not try to put your failings on me, young man. Why do you think you're here?"

Harry paused. "Why I'm here?"

"Yes, why are you here? If I'm asking you this question," he dryly told him, "it's probably because it's linked to what you've just said so _think_. Why are you here?"

Harry looked at the man's impassive face a moment. Finally he tiredly sighed and closed his eyes.

Why are you here? That was a question Harry had asked himself a few times. Why was he stuck in the past? Sometimes in his dreams between two screams he'd ask Professor Dumbledore this question. Why hadn't tried to stop this, or why hadn't he already saved him? Why was Harry still in the past?

And why hadn't Professor Dumbledore told him anything about what was going to happen?

But despite how much he'd scream and shatter everything in his dreams, Professor Dumbledore would never answer this particular question. And this definitely was not what Mr. Evans was referring to.

"An Auror was here, desperately wanting to charge somebody of breaking the statute of secrecy," the man repeated. "You tried to attack him so why on earth are you here?"

Harry opened his eyes and looked at the man. "I shouldn't be here," Harry slowly began. "I should- I should be in Azkaban."

Mr. Evans rolled his eyes. "Nobody goes to Azkaban for a breach in the statute of secrecy and _even then_ you'd get a trial beforehand. Still, at minimum you'd see the door of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. You may not remember him, I can assure you Brutus would have loved dragging you there. So why didn't he?"

"I suppose it was because he couldn't," he carefully tried.

"Yes, obviously, but _why_?"

Harry thought about it. Suddenly remembering Mr. Evans's previous words he stilled and numbly looked at him.

"Because I didn't have my wand," he whispered.

"Meaning?"

"He assumed I was a muggle."

Mr. Evans grimly smiled. "What sort of wizard would be going anywhere without his wand? These wizards like to say there is some major difference between them and non-magical people, the only true thing separating the two on sight is the wand. Brutus checked for a wand but didn't find any and as a result was firmly convinced you were a muggle. And like the good detective you got the muggle treatment and only got your memories erased. _That_ is why I ordered you to put your wand away. It the best course of action if wizards were to come here."

So that was what happened, Harry dimly thought. Harry couldn't remember anything because this Brutus Greengrass had erased his memories of the entire evening.

"Rushing in the room ready to fight an Auror however?" the man continued and crossed his arms. "It's the _worst_ and thank Merlin you forgot you didn't have your wand or a headache would be the least of your problems. I told you to leave so why on earth didn't you?"

Harry didn't remember. But if he couldn't remember he had a pretty god idea what would have driven him to stay.

"I suppose we were worried about you."

The man paused a moment.

Finally he scoffed. "If you truly want to help, try to use your brain before doing something unbelievably stupid next time."

It was at this moment they heard a groan.

The inspector was waking up. "Wha- What happened?" the man weakly asked before putting a hand on his head.

He then frowned and touched his head again.

"Ah, inspector," Mr. Evans said, "are you feeling better? I must say, you gave Harry and me quite a fright there."

The magician then began to weave a story where the detective in trying to find how the vanishing cabinet worked had accidentally set off a booby trap.

Considering the detective's suspicious look, he wasn't quite buying it.

"Something happened, didn't it?"

Mr. Evans paused.

Before he could say anything however somebody outside the room screamed.

The detective immediately got up and left the room. "What's wrong?" he asked the woman in the corridor.

The woman was white as a sheet. "F-Fire!" she shouted. "I-In the-the storage room! There's smoke coming from the storage room!"

The man immediately turned to Mr. Evans and, voice firm, asked if there were anything in the storage room than could explode.

Mr. Evans grimaced. "Yes but I don't think-"

But the man was already leaving. "Tell everybody to leave the theater," he ordered before running to the storage room.

Mr. Evans cursed under his breath and ran after him, Harry following behind.

When they entered the storage room, Harry's heart stopped.

The vanishing cabinet was on fire.

The inspector loudly swore and ordered Mr. Evans to bring water while he'd try to contain the fire before it could spread out.

But Mr. Evans, face blank, told the man, "There's no point."

The muggle uncomprehendingly looked at him an instant.

He then shook his head and left the room, probably to bring water himself.

"Water does not do anything against this sort of magical fire," Mr. Evans explained as Harry was about to leave to lend the man a hand. "And if you go grab your wand, by the time you come back it'd be too late."

"We have to do _something_!" Harry shouted. "You can't just-"

The man shrugged. "Only a wizard can stop this fire."

"Then cast the counter-spell or-"

"I'm a magician, not a wizard."

Harry looked at him a second. He then left the room to grab his wand, hoping to prove the man wrong.

But no matter how fast he ran, when Harry came back to the storage room there was nothing left of the vanishing cabinet but ashes.

* * *

Something must have shown on their face when they came back because the first thing Mrs. Evans said was: "What happened?"

Mr. Evans, jaw tense, didn't answer.

That seemed to be enough. "Again?" she exclaimed. "What have they done now?"

"Burned down the vanishing cabinet," Harry dryly answered.

She opened her mouth in shock. After a moment she said, "It's got to stop, Patrick. You should- You should call the police and-"

"Problem is, he _is_ the police." Eyes on the windows, he said, "And it'd cause us more problem than it has-"

"I don't care!" she exclaimed. "These- These _people_ have no right to do this, _none at all_! How are we supposed to earn our keep if they keep destroying your props for your shows? What right do they have to keep making our life hell? For- For heaven sake, why do you still-?"

"I had everything under control," he tersely replied. "Everything! It's not my fault if that detective and that boy barged in and tried to fight Brutus!"

Mrs. Evans finally seemed to remember they were not alone and looked at Harry. "You tried to attack that wizard?"

"I told him to go home," Mr. Evans answered. "Somehow, he thought that meant he needed to barge in with Scotland Yard. So, naturally, Brutus panicked and felt he had no other choice to cover his mistake by burning _my_ cabinet. If it wasn't for them, I'd still have it. I'm sure of it."

Mrs. Evans didn't say anything.

Mr. Evans opened the window when an owl began knocking with its beak.

"That one's for you," he told Harry after glancing at the envelope.

When Harry saw the seal of the Improper Use of Magic Office, he couldn't stop a scream of utter frustration.

He didn't even need to open it to know it would say than on the 20th of July 1897 somewhere around 10 o'clock pm they had records of magic being done in the theatre and that he was in their eyes responsible of it.

" _I'm_ the one who got cursed! And _he_ is the one who destroyed the vanishing cabinet!"

"Perhaps but if you tell them this, the Improper Use of Magic Office will check your story and start talking with the Auror Forces. And if the likes of Brutus were to realize that you are in fact a wizard you will be in a different sort of troubles."

Harry gritted his teeth.

He wanted to scream at the pure injustice of it, he wanted to go to the Ministry and outright burn down the Improper Use of Magic Office for all the troubles it had brought him. In that moment, Harry would rather face the entire Wizengamot for his 'crime' than paying for something he most certainly _didn't_ do.

But Mr. Evans seemed to know what he was thinking for he said, "Do not tickle the sleeping dragon. Departments rarely talk with each other and it is rarely a good thing when they start being competent. You keep your mouth shut, this letter is all you're going to get. You try to fight back, you'll find soon enough they can cause you _a lot_ of problems."

At these words, the scar on Harry's hand tingled, cruelly reminding him how true this was. And Professor Mesmer had made it more than clear Harry couldn't afford anybody at the Ministry to pay attention to him.

Harry Potter after all didn't exist yet.

Not even the realization this was technically his first offence was enough to calm him.

"So what now?" Mrs. Evans quietly asked her husband. "What do we do?"

"The show must go on," he said after a moment. "I'll just-" Mr. Evans sighed. "I'll think of something."

Harry hesitated. "Can't we just..."

He didn't know what he wanted to say. Buy another vanishing cabinet? Harry remembered seeing one at Borgin and Burkes but not only Harry didn't think it was already there he doubted any of them could afford one. Make one? Harry couldn't use magic in the first place. And Mr. Evans, Harry now knew, was a squib and couldn't charm any cabinet.

"Here's the thing," Mr. Evans told him, "I need a cabinet. And I need it now. With the inspector asking us to see him tomorrow and swearing he'd do everything to find the one responsible for the fire, I won't find the time to bring one for Monday. The real problem is not the cabinet in itself, it's time. More than Brutus, our real enemy is time."

He searched his pockets and retrieved his fob watch. After flicking the watch crystal he raised an eyebrow.

"But then again," he pensively said, "sometimes time is on our side."

* * *

"And it was you who had the key to the basement," the detective said. "The _only_ key to the basement, correct?"

Harry shrugged. "I must have forgotten to lock the door."

The detective suspiciously looked at him.

For a reason Harry didn't quite understand, the man wasn't swallowing the accident explanation Harry and Mr. Evans had agreeed on and had decided to put his bushy mustache in the incident and treat it as arson. So here he was, the day after the fire asked to give his 'testimony' in Scotland Yard.

"And I… I tend to smoke there," he tried. "It must be because of that the cabinet caught fire."

The detective hummed. "That makes sense, I suppose." He sighed and from a breast pocket retrieved a metalic box and a lighter. After lighting a cigarette he started musing, "Of course that doesn't explain how a cabinet would burn down in less than ten minutes but that'd explain how the fire started. Also, one would think we'd have found a cigarette butt there."

Harry shrugged. "The entire cabinet burnt down, maybe the butt had the same fate."

"True."

Harry coughed.

The detective handed him the cigarette box. "Want one?"

"Oh no, I wouldn't-"

"I insist. You should take it."

Harry frowned. "I really-"

"Because if you don't, I'm probably going to assume you don't smoke so, _really_ , it's in your interest to to take it if you want me to leave you alone."

After a moment of hesitation Harry took the cigarette and the lighter the man gave him.

He promptly coughed at the first breath.

The man crossed his arms, a self-satisfied smile on his face.

"Now, why would you try to try to take the blame? I hope you realize this isn't some little magic trick you're hiding here. The fire could have spread out and burnt down the entire theatre. With what I saw was also down there, it could have even exploded."

That was where the muggle was wrong. Not only was Harry _literally_ trying to hide plain magic, the magical fire had been charmed to only burn the vanishing cabinet and would have never destroyed anything else.

The man sighed and leant on the table between them. "I know your lot wants to handle everything on your own," he quietly began, "but sometimes you _need_ to ask for help. You lost a cabinet this time. Maybe you don't find it too bothersome because you just have to make a hole in another one but what is it going to be next time? Because, between you and me, this sort of situation can only escalate. That's why it needs to stop before it's too late."

* * *

Harry was still thinking about the detective's words when he left Scotland Yard.

He knew that _technically_ Mr. Evans was the one in the wrong for threatening the statute of secrecy. But the way everything happened, it hadn't felt like some wizarding authority had come to confront Mr. Evans over the magician gig. It had more felt like some thug had decided to cause the squib troubles just because he could.

But then again, the ministry had often acted like a big bully so perhaps that was to be expected.

Walking in front of a broken cabinet left near the bins, Harry stopped walking and couldn't help thinking about the one that had vanished in smoke and how they needed to somehow have it replaced it before next week.

But where would they find one? Even if they _did_ find one, could any of them afford it?"

Harry pensively looked at broken cabinet a moment before shaking his head and walking away.

* * *

"I suppose I could teach you the spell," Madam Malkin mused when Harry told her a client wanted a stain-proof charm to be put on her clothes for the third time that day. "It'd make us win valuable time."

"I can't use magic outside Hogwarts"

"Oh, you're not going to have any problem with the Improper Use of Magic Office if it's for work. There are exceptions in the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery after all. And it's not as if the Ministry is going to pick it up if you do magic in Diagon Alley."

Harry _very slowly_ turned his head. _"_ What? _"_

Apparently, the way the trace worked, it was utterly ineffective in Diagon Alley or in any wizarding place and any magic done in that place was quietly ignored by the Improper Use of Magic Office. That was apparently a well-known loophole many wizarding families used when they had children learning magic or wanting to have wizarding jobs during the holidays.

In a voice that wanted to stay calm Harry asked, "So if I do something here that's legal, but if I do the same thing outside Diagon Alley it's suddenly not?"

The witch nodded. "The Ministry's true goal is not to punish children from doing magic," she explained, "it's to protect the statute of secrecy. That's why they only bother paying attention to magical activity in muggle places. In practice, only muggleborns are concerned by the decree and wizarding families are rarely bothered when a child is found using magic. I suppose it's not very fair for muggleborns," she mused, "but that's just the way it is."

He had enough of this.

* * *

Mr. Evans raised his eyebrows when he saw Harry coming to the theater pushing a cabinet on a trolley.

"Well, would you look at that. I'm almost willing to forgive you for not coming to tonight's show."

Harry tried to catch his breath.

After hearing he could literally use magic in Madam Malkin's shop without being caught but would get accused of others using magic in the muggle world, the first thing Harry had thought was that he was done playing by the book. If he was going to be punished for something he didn't do anyway, then he had no reason to not exploit that loophole. As long as Harry was doing it in the magical street, he could do _anything_.

And if Harry wanted to fix a broken cabinet he's found on the street, then Harry was going to drag that bloody thing to Madam Malkin's and use magic to fix it there.

Mr. Evans put his hands in his pockets and leant against the wall behind him. "Not that I'm not happy to see you bringing me this but what are you going to do now?"

Harry hadn't thought that far ahead.

Mr. Evans shook his head. "Oh well, we'll talk about this after we bring this beauty in the storage room. Where did you find it by the way?"

Harry explained how he got it as the two of them pushed the cabinet. When Harry went to the part where Harry used the mending charm, the magician demanded if that was the only charm Harry had used.

Harry nodded. "I don't know how to charm the cabinet," Harry explained. "But maybe I can find a charm that-"

"And we started so well," the man regretted as they finally left the storage room. Opening the door to his room he told Harry, "Do you even realize how narrow-minded you are being?"

Harry frowned. "I don't understand."

He sighed as he closed the door behind him. "Of course you don't. You've been given a wand and you've been told you could do anything with it. But has it ever occurred to you that you using magic might be the wrong answer to your problems? That there may be another way? A better way?"

Seeing Harry's puzzled face, he gave him a small smile. "I told you yesterday Brutus didn't bring you to the Ministry of magic because he assumed you were a muggle. But have you ever wondered why he didn't bring _me_ there?"

Harry's thoughts came to a sudden halt. "Why he didn't take you to the Minisry?" he numbly repeated.

Mr. Evans walked in the direction of a poster where Mr. Evans was drawn with a dove in each hand. Once he unpinned that particular poster Harry saw a safe on the wall.

"One reason naturally is that an Auror going to such lengths to arrest a poor man like me is like using the killing curse to get rid of a fly," he said as he began putting the combinataion. "Such matter should normally be handled by regular wizarding law enforcers and not the Auror force."

Opening the safe he retrieving several papers he put on the table.

"The other reason is that I've never broken the statute of secrecy in my entire life."

On the papers were drawn numerous plans for a vanishing cabinet.

"It took me three weeks to make the other one," the magician explained. "Considering I've never used anything magical to make it, wizards cannot do anything but let me use it for my shows. The second Brutus saw it was just a 'regular' cupboard, his hands were tied and _he_ was the one threatening the statute of secrecy by attacking random muggles. That's why he burnt down my cabinet: to cover his arse."

Harry numbly looked at the drawings where he could see the trap door at the bottom of the cabinet and the hidden door behind the front.

The vanishing cabinet where one person would mysteriously vanish once they entered it, the doves coming from nowhere, the numerous objects the magician would pull out of his top hat… Harry had never thought much of it before, thinking the man had been hiding a wand in his sleeve. He had only chuckled at the detective trying to find out how it was done and giving them theories after theories, thinking how funny it was the see the muggle so completely fooled.

But now Harry could see _he_ had been the one in the right and _Harry_ was the one who got tricked.

"How could I not see it?" he whispered.

"Because you were so utterly convinced you knew how it was done you've never _once_ bothered looking closer," Mr. Evans answered. "You've had many golden opportunities to just open the door and you've never taken any. You knew wizards could charm cabinets and entirely forgot there could just be another way. And when somebody who seemingly knows less that you handed you the answer on a silver platter, you ignored him. You didn't see because you were not looking."

Harry winced.

The magician checked his watch. "Now that you got us a cabinet, we just need to use the blueprints to make another 'vanishing cabinet'. I'll be busy this week so I'm afraid you'll have to do most of the work. Still, it should be doable to have it ready for Monday. You can see this as a way for you to pay me back for letting you stay home if you want. "

Harry numbly looked at the papers on the table.

He had thought the man to be fooling muggles. The truth was, Mr. Evans had somehow decided what he wanted in life was to give the middle finger to the entire wizarding world.

Harry finally grinned. "When do I start?"


	28. The Show must go on Part2

Building a vanishing cabinet wasn't as easy as it first looked.

Not only did Harry have to learn how to read the blueprints, he had all things considered very little strength in his arms. As results using the saw and other tools could be a real pain and Harry was starting to believe the electric drills and other tools Uncle Vernon had been selling were one of the greatest inventions in history and would have probably bought him one had he been there.

Still, even though was completely out of his depth, the thought of fooling the Ministry of magic with pure muggle work after all they've done was enough to make him grit his teeth and keep going.

"You're doing rather well," Mr. Evans commented when he came to check his progress. "It's not going to be perfect of course but it's not bad at all if that's the first time you're doing it."

Harry tried to catch his breath. "You think it's going to be finished on time?" he asked.

The man checked his fob watch. "Apparently, yes. It'd probably be a close call but we should have finished the polishing before the representation." Pocketing his watch he pensively looked at the cabinet. "Honestly, I was afraid I'd have to correct your mistakes and that'd lengthen the process but I barely have to do anything. I must say, that's a nice change. Oh well, I think we can call it a day and go home."

Harry sharply nodded and cleaned his hand with a red cloth the man gave him.

When Harry gave it to the man, the magician showed the red clothes and a bouquet of flowers appeared.

"Alright, how did you do that?" Harry asked the man. "No, really, how?"

"Magic."

Harry made a face.

The man chuckled all the way to the theater's exist and it was only when he saw the inspector asking questions to a member of the theatre's staff that he frowned.

"Is everything alright, inspector?"

The man closed the notebook he had been writing on and answered: "It appears that a few regulars and workers here have spotted a strange man wearing a ruff roaming around the theater the night the vanishing cabinet burned down. I must ask you to come to New Scotland Yard," he told the woman. "And tell a colleague of mine what you told me so that we can have a clear picture of what that man looked like."

Mr. Evans shook his head and lowly chuckled. "Still thinking a strange man came to burn down a little cabinet, inspector? You must realize this is just a little bit ridiculous. I admit it'd make a nice detective story but this is, sadly, real life. Really, what makes so convinced it was arson, inspector?"

"You."

Mr. Evans stopped chuckling.

"You're working very hard to make sure nobody gets near your cabinet," he began explaining. "And this piece of furniture is what ultimately makes you earn your keep. So why as it is on fire you're not even trying to save it and only watch it burn?"

Mr. Evans didn't say anything.

"You were not even surprised," the inspector continued. "Your nephew and I ran to the smoke but you? You weren't even surprised to see it was that cabinet that was the source of the fire. You knew," he accused, "you knew as you were weaving some stupid lie on how I lost consciousness that somebody was messing in the storage room and what that person was after."

Mr. Evans opened his mouth.

But the inspector didn't let him speak. "I'm sure you have a nice explanation for me," he drawled. "But I honestly stopped believing a word coming from your mouth a long time ago. So, if you're not going to tell the truth by yourself, I guess I will have no choice but to make you."

* * *

A glance in their direction was enough for Mrs. Evans to know there was something on Mr. Evans' mind when they came back. "What happened now?"

Mr. Evans pensively looked at the window.

The woman turned to Harry and gave him a look making it clear he should be more talkative if he wanted the two of them to stay of good terms.

When Harry explaining the muggle inspector was looking for the one responsible for the fire she stilled. "And is he right?" she asked.

"Do you know many men wearing a ruff, Maggie?" Mr. Evans answered. "Of course, he is right. Now, I don't think he's going to find Brutus but..." He sighed. "If something happens or he gets too close to the Wizarding world, I get the feeling that we're the ones who'll have to fix Brutus' mess."

The woman seemed to hesitate a moment. "Would it really be such a bad thing?" she asked.

He hesitated. "This inspector is making a point in finding out how my magic tricks are done and getting me to confess there is no such thing as magic. While he is not a bad man, he is very noisy; and if he somehow discovers magic is, in fact, real, I fear he will tell everybody. And if the statute of secrecy is broken, who do you think is going to be blamed?"

Her jaw tensed. "In other words, we must stop a police inspector from doing his job and you have to cover that wizard who is harassing you because if we don't we'll be the ones in trouble, she dryly stated. "Am I missing anything here, Patrick?"

The man hesitated. "I'm pretty sure that inspector has more or less figured he got attacked. So if if I play it wrong and he finds out I'm trying to cover up his attacker -or if he thinks I'm the one who attacked him- I may get in trouble?" he tried.

Mrs. Evans was not amused.

* * *

"I'm not supposed to know, you know?"

Harry stopped cleaning the plate and turned to Mrs. Evans. "Know what?" he asked.

"Your sort. Magic. I'm not supposed to know there are people a few streets away who can solve any problem with a stick of wood. If these people finds out I know, they could mess up with my head."

Harry frowned. "But you're married to Mr. Evans. I'm pretty sure you're not breaching the statute of secrecy if you tell your wife or close family."

"That's not what Patrick said. That… That secret thing, nobody is allowed to know. Apparently when children from normal families learns they have magic, they're asked not to tell their own parents."

Harry couldn't help drawing back at that. That wasn't what had happened to him or other muggleborns. "Shouldn't-Shouldn't their parents have a say? I mean, they've got to know where they go."

But even as he said that he realized he himself should know better. Didn't the Dursleys refuse to let him go to Hogwarts after all? And when Uncle Vernon had told Hagrid he wasn't to go at Hogwarts, hadn't Hagrid barely listened and almost laughed to his face?

Her lips curled in barely veiled disgust. "They lie. The kids lie and give their parents a nice little story; and if they refuse to follow these strange men, their memories get erased."  
Harry sharply raised his head. "What?"

"Shouldn't you know all that?" she dryly asked. "It's in your world after all. You're clearly not used to this place, but Patrick cannot help noticing you've got severe gaps for somebody who should have lived in that wizard world."

Harry winced. While it was true he was doing his best not to make any faux-pas, it had happened once or twice that Harry would not understand something Mr. Evans was saying when they had been working the vanishing cabinet. And if the man would explain some expressions or examples, Harry was aware it was evidence enough he was not from this time.

"W-Well… I travelled," he tried.

Mrs. Evans' eyes narrowed. "And how does it work where you're from?"

Harry hesitated. "My relatives know. They're muggles."

"And no wizard come to bother them, I suppose," she drawled. "The same way, I'm sure they're perfectly fine with the way things are."

… If Harry was being honest a moment, the Durleys have had their perfectly normal lives outright shattered the day he had found out he was a wizard. And if Harry didn't pity them at all, he had to admit that after everything Dudley had no reason to like the Wizarding world at all.

"It's complicated."

Her lips curled in barely veiled disgust. "I'm sure it is."

Harry uneasily looked away and grabbed the first dish to clean.

For a moment, none of them said anything. Finally, Harry couldn't handle it anymore.

"Not all muggles are nice."

Harry didn't quite know who he was really trying to defend here. Perhaps it was the wizarding world, perhaps it was himself.

"Some people just hates magic. And they'd do everything to beat the magic out of them. So sometimes we need to pro-"

Mrs. Evans's towel forcefully hit the table.

"Don't you dare," she hissed.

Harry gapped a moment. "Bu-"

"You don't get to pretend you're the victim here. Not after what your sort did to my Patrick."

Harry was speechless at the pure hatred he could see in her eyes. "What… What are you talking about?"

She sneered. "Don't pretend you don't know this as well. What happens to normal people like my Patrick. They tell their parents they're just sick and will finally do magic if the child drink these potions they're selling, they take advantage of them and let them ruin themselves to 'cure' a perfectly normal boy."

Harry gapped. "Wh-"

"And again, I get the feeling Patrick's parents were the 'nice' ones. You can do far, far worse."

And she started talking about parents trying to beat the magic into their children or pushing them out of a cliff to pushing them into doing magic. About 'nice' parents hiding their children in the attic or erasing their memories before dropping in a muggle orphanage under the pretense they were doing this for the kid's own good.

It was clear the woman has wanted to scream this for a long time and now that she's started she wouldn't be able to stop until she was done. And Harry couldn't help listening with growing horror to how the Wizarding world could look like from the outside.

"I wouldn't be surprised to learn some… some squib got some mysterious illness and died before anybody could find out they were not like your sort," she finished. "So, no, you don't- You don't get to say you're the good guys and we're some dangerous monsters who'd hurt a child because he's different. I may be a muggle, I'd rather die than to a tenth of what you did to my Patrick to a child of mine! You hear me? I'd rather die!"

She stopped to catch her breath and Harry uneasily looked away.

Seeing this she said, voice small, "You thought I would."

"You remind me of my aunt."

Perhaps it was how she was handling her home, but Harry had more or less assumed she and Aunt Petunia were cut from the same cloth and would have been great friends.  
Now however, Harry could see he had judged her too quickly.

"She and my Uncle would have loved to beat the magic out of me," he said. "And when I left to learn magic they were more than happy to see me gone. They were normal, you see."

"That's not normal."

Harry couldn't help pausing at these words.

She sighed in exhaustion and weakly put a hand on her face. "I shouldn't have lashed out," she said. "I just- I'm tired. Can't you- Can't your sort just leave us alone? I-I'd do anything for this to end."

Harry hesitated. "Perhaps I could..." He then bit his lip, not quite knowing how to finish that sentence.

Her lips stretched. "I'm afraid there's little you can do."

But there had to be, Harry couldn't help thinking. There had to be something they could do to make it all stop.

But no matter how hard he thought about it, he just couldn't see what.

* * *

When Mr. Evans told Harry they weren't going to do anything the next day, Harry couldn't help protesting.

"There has to be something we can do!"

The man sighed. "Why do you think he told us the reason why he's so convinced somebody came? He wants to drive us to give something away. As of now, he had suspicions but nothing whatsoever. You act rashly, you will give him evidence."

"But-"

"You heard him, Brutus might have attacked him and burned down my cabinet, it is me who made him suspicious." He sighed. "I have to say, I really messed up there."  
"You were upset because of the-"

"The show must go on." Seeing Harry frowning he gave him a wistful smile. "That's something we say in circuses. Even when everything goes wrong, the performer must keep smiling, pretend it is all part of the act. You just cannot break the mask and you must keep audience under your control. I got upset, and just like that-" He snapped his fingers. "I lost control. And it is very difficult to get it back. In our case, there's some silver lining."

"Which is?"

"I know our dear inspector," he told Harry. He then lazily smiled. "He's been a regular for quite a long time so I know what makes him tick. And I can tell you he's too logical to even consider a magical explanation if there is another one. I make him believe he's found the right one, he will stop looking where I don't want him to. Besides, we have a vanishing cabinet to finish for Monday and cannot afford to lose time here."

Seeing there was nothing Harry could say that'd make the man change his mind, Harry sighed and numbly nodded before going back to working on the 'vanishing cabinet'.  
At first glance, it didn't seemed that different from a few days ago. If Harry squinted he could see the few spot where he's had trouble making the holes but there was otherwise nothing to show it wasn't just another plain cabinet you could buy in any shop.

"Shouldn't we paint it or do something to show it's not an ordinary cabinet?"

Seeing Mr. Evans' horrified look he sheepishly apologized.

"Magic," the squib dryly stated, "is not about bright colours or loud noises. This cabinet is perfect the way it is, you don't ruin it for cheap attention."

Harry knew there was some truth to the magician's words, but part of him had trouble believing anybody was going to be fooled.

The older man sighed. "Secrecy is the main component of magic," he began explaining. "That's what makes it different from science and why a magician must never reveal his secrets. You put a sign saying 'vanishing cabinet', nobody is going to be surprised. You know -or think you know- how it works, you're not awed when the person inside disappears. I mean, look at you, you didn't particularily care whenever I did something before. Now that you know I'm a squib however you cannot help asking me 'how did you do that?' You make something extravagant, people suspect there's more to it, that's it's a trick. You use something ordinary, something they could have, their imagination runs wild."

"But what if they're not interested and you can't fool them?"

"They want to be fooled."

Harry stopped working.

The magician shrugged. "Every single one of the spectators do, even the dear inspector, deep down. They want to believe extraordinary things can happen, because they want to escape their lonely life, because they want to believe there's more to this life than what they've been told. We're selling dreams there and they're willing to suspect their disbelief one evening to get it. Well, apart from the inspector but you get the gist of it."

Harry suddenly remembered seeing Hagrid doing magic for the first time and all the awe he's felt when he was young and he was just discovering there existed a entire world where magic was real, Dudley could get a pigtail and Harry could learn to fly.

And when he's started learning how it was supposed to work and was supposed to hand essay after essay, that awe had slowly started to fade to be replaced by something akin to boredom or annoyance when the sneakcoscope was bothering him.

How strange it was to realize that Harry these days was more awed by the squib pulling out a flower from seemingly nowhere than he was by Professor Dippet's latest charm.

"Could you teach me a magic trick or two after we're done with the cabinet?" he asked.

The magician's green eyes shined in amusement. "I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

 _A/N: A little info dump to those interested in Mrs. Evans' story and how it worked for muggleborns in the 19th century.  
The idea that muggles whose children are magical are not supposed to know about their kids going to a magic school is surprisingly based on canon. Most specifically, Albus Dumbledore is the one giving it credit to this idea. When we see his meeting with young Tom Riddle, one of the first things he did twas meet Mrs. Cole to say Tom got some scholarship for some kind of school.  
And Mrs. Cole asked him many questions on said school. How did Tom get a scholarship to begin? Where it is? Can I get some identification papers? We can have our headcanons about her, she was at this moment acting responsibly and asking the questions any parents would ask and was looking for Tom.  
Professor Dumbledore's answer was to give her a charmed paper and get her drunk with a bottle oh alcohol he selflessly provided. Albus Dumbledore, the defender of muggles and so on, cursed a muggle so that she'd stop asking legitimate questions on where that strange man would take an eleven years old.  
He had no reason to believe at this point she wasn't a concerned caretaker. Meaning most probably that it was just standard procedure in the 1930s. Even in PS, Hagrid makes it clear the Dursleys cannot stop Harry to go to Hogwarts.  
Conclusion: muggle parents have literally no say on whether or not their child go to Hogwarts or not, it is the child and only them who can make the choice. And if the parents in the 1980s know about magic, odds are the statute of secrecy was much stricter in the nineteenth century and children were asked to never say a word of magic._


	29. The Show must go on Part3

The first tricks Mr. Evans taught him were card tricks. After handing him a deck he showed him how to make sure to always get the card you wanted to have or how to always find the card another had picked.

"Cards tricks really are the basics with sleights of hand. Also, it's damn useful during poker games."

Harry searched for the card the man had picked. Spotting the queen of spade, he presented the card to him. "Is this your card?"

"No."

Harry cursed under his breath.

"Still need to work on it, I'm afraid. Also, even if your trick fails you mustn't show it to your audience."

Harry mumbled and handed the deck to the man.

"Oh, you can keep it. I've got many others in a drawer. It's not like I cannot get a new one at the guild anyway."

Harry frowned. "The divination guild, you mean?"

He nodded. "Their decks are prettier so I always nick normal and tarot cards when I go to their underground poker tournament." Seeing Harry's befuddled face, he gave him a sly smile. "Do you really think certified seers are allowed to bet?"

Harry didn't have anything to say to that.

It was only when as they left the theatre and saw the inspector showing what looked like a drawing to a few people he asked, "Why do you think he's so obsessed with what happened?"

Mr. Evans shrugged. "He's just like that: he needs to know everything and tell everybody what he knows. Even easy card tricks like the ones I showed you, he needs to tell me how I do them. I suppose it's a quality in his line of work, but ours need us to keep our secrets secret."

Finally spotting them, the inspector walk in their direction to show them his poster.

"Does any of you recognize this person?"

Harry glanced at the drawing of a crooked-nosed man wearing a ruff. "No, I don't."

"Mr. Evans?"

Mr. Evans opened his mouth.

But the muggle didn't let him talk "Nevermind. Of course you don't." He sighed and rubbed his face, his buffy moustache twitching as he was scratching his nose. "I suppose I have no choice but to ask you to come to Scotland Yard then."

That had to be harassment by this point.

Mr. Evans must have been the same thing for he crossed his arms and asked in a low voice, "On what ground?"

The inspector paused as if trying to find a reason to give. "Your cousin told me last time the fire was nothing but a regrettable accident caused by a badly extinguished cigarette. Maybe this is true but considering how quickly the cabinet burnt, it raises the question on what was used on the cabinet that could make it burn faster than a matchstick. Whatever substance was used, it had to be highly restricted so I must ask you what it was and whether or not you acquired it legally."

He nodded to himself, clearly proud to have found something to get his way. Retrieving a tiny watch from his breast pocket, he looked at the time and stated. "The two of you will have to go to Scotland Yard tomorrow morning, I'm afraid."

"The boy works from seven to six."

After pocketing his watch, he retrieved a little notebook and a pen. "Where?"

Mr. Evans' eyebrow twitched. Once he gave an address, he sarcastically told the man, "Anything else you need to know, inspector? My taxable income perhaps?"

If the man noticed the sarcasm, he didn't show it. "I suppose he can come tomorrow evening then, but I want to see you tomorrow morning at seven sharp. And I want the two of you to give me real answers this time."

That being said, he closed his notebook and left.

"I'm really getting too old for that shit," the magician muttered.

* * *

This couldn't go on.

That was the thought Harry had when they came back to the Evans' apartment. Wizards coming and trying to show Mr. Evans' shows, the police going after them because of the mess others made… Something had to give and it looked like they'd be the losers at the end.

Harry knew Mr. Evans had said that they weren't supposed to do anything, that the muggle'd move on, eventually. Perhaps he was right and they were going to be alright but for how long would they be? And how long would it take before that inspector stopped putting his bushy moustache in their business?

He angrily ran a hand through his hair. It wasn't fair. Why was it always good people who got in trouble? Why did they always have to clean another's mess? It shouldn't be them who should be worrying and trying to protect the statute o secrecy, it was that man on the poster!

Harry tried to find a way out of this mess but he just couldn't. Erasing the man's memories? Casting some powerful confundus charm? Not only wasn't allowed to use magic, he had no guarantee this could actually work. If he were to use magic, the next owl he'd get would inform him he was expelled from Hogwarts. And if he was expelled, any chance he had of going back to the twentieth century would vanish.

And Harry hated himself for thinking this, but he couldn't do that. Even for the Evans, Harry couldn't give up this sliver of hope.

No matter what, Harry couldn't use his wand. And without his wand, Harry wasn't better than a muggle and he couldn't do a thing.

It was in foul mood that Harry fell on his bed of convenience.

There had to be something he could do, he brooded. Even if he couldn't use his wand, there had to be something he could do.

He stilled as he put his hands in his pockets. Slowly, he retrieved the deck he had forgotten he had put in his pockets.

Bringing the deck to eye-level, he suddenly had a crazy thought.

This was insane, he thought. This was pure madness, what he was thinking.

But hadn't Dumbledore told him a long time ago that the most brilliant plans always had a hint of madness?

He got up and went to the table where he posed the deck. After a moment of hesitation, he walked to a cabinet, opened a drawer and searched among the many decks in the drawer what he was looking for.

When he finally found a tarot deck, Harry went to his chair and shuffled the cards.

He might not be able to use his wand, maybe he couldn't afford to buy the ingredients needed for a befuddling solution, he doubted divination was concerned when it came to the trace.

The first card he revealed was the Devil. The second was the King of Sword and the third the Hermit. He then got the Tower and the Magician.

If Harry realistically knew the Devil and the Tower cards were not as ominous as what the picture drawn might imply, he couldn't stop a wince at their sight.

He was trying to figure the cards' meaning when he heard somebody knocking.

It was Mr. Evans. "May I come in?"

"Sure."

The man entered the room and closed the door. "It's about what we're going to tell the dear inspector tomorrow. I was thinking of- Are these tarot cards?" The man walked to the table and looked at the cards he had drawn. Spotting the magician card, the man chuckled and said, "That's me! Are you trying to see the future because of the inspector?"

Harry shrugged and looked at the cards. "If it works…" Seeing the man amusedly shaking his head he asked. "Don't you believe in divination?"

This man had been in Mesmer's divination party after all. He'd have thought he'd take this matter more seriously considering he knew seers.

He hummed. "My parents made me go see a seer when I was thirteen. They wanted him to tell me when I'd finally do magic, you see."

"And?"

"He told me I never would."

Harry stopped looking at the cards and stared at the man.

Mr. Evans turned his head and winked. "As you can see, that idiot was wrong. Are seers real? Yes, they are. Does that mean we should blindly trust their third eye or some cards now… That is a completely different problem. I know a thing or two but that's it. What was the question you asked the cards?"

Harry hadn't really had a question in mind. It was just that with everything going on he had no idea how they were supposed to take care of the situation with the inspector and had hoped that, by some miracle, a card would tell him what he was supposed to do.

When Harry said that much, Mr. Evans bit his cheek. "That's not good. That's not good at all."

Harry grimaced. "I know it's stupid to assume we'd get an answer but-"

"It's not that it's silly, it's that this sort of thinking can be _very_ dangerous. What if the answer is one you do not like, what are you doing to do? Like… I know most seers tend to follow what their cards, some Higher Being, are telling them to do but that is not a good thing at all! You can use a deck if you think you need it to give you some hint but _never_ , ever, let it rule your life!"

Harry flinched.

Taking the magician card between his long fingers, the man pensively looked at it. "I know it's tempting to rely on some wondrous artefact, and they can be a great help sometimes, but you should never make them your master."

Suddenly remembering Tom Riddle's diary, Harry winced.

Eyes still on the card, Mr. Evans absent-mindedly retrieved his fob watch with his free hand.

He stilled and looked at the objet in his hand, as if he hadn't noticed what he had been doing. Finally, he gave a self-depreciating chuckle and he put the artefact back to his pocket without looking at the dial.

"If we want to find the answer to our problem, I'm afraid we'll have to work for it. This is why we need to agree on what we're going to do tomorrow…"

* * *

The next day, Harry went to work without his wand.

The reason Mr. Evans had given him about not bringing it to Scotland Yard was that, while the chances were slim, it was possible that the sight of a wand could trigger his memories.

Seeing Harry hesitating he had sighed. "Remember what I said about not being the slave of some artefact? This is also true when it comes to wands, perhaps even more so. If you're worried about being unarmed or something like that, then bring a knife if it makes you feel safer but stop relying too much on something that, by your own admission, you are not allowed to use."  
After much thinking, he had picked his pen knife and mentally recalled himself all he's learned from his fights with Aberforth every time he went to a narrow street.

When it was time to go to Scotland Yard, he hid the pen knife in a hidden pocket.

The constable who searched him didn't notice the weapon. "Who are you supposed to see again?" he asked.

Harry paused, realizing he had no idea what the noisy inspector's name was. "Well, he's got…" With his hand, he signed a gigantic moustache.

"Ah, _him_. Fifth floor, third door on your right."

After thanking the man, Harry took the stairs and reached the fifth floor. Once he found the aforementioned door, he knocked.

There was some noise on the other side. "Enter!"

When Harry opened the door, Harry saw the man closing a drawer. Putting a key in his breast pocket, he raised his head. "You were supposed to come at six."

Harry could already feel the headache coming. "I finish work at six, I come here at roughly six thirty by foot. I cannot apparate, you know?" Not yet anyway.

"A man should always be on time," he mumbled. "Oh well, next time you come to Scotland Yard, be on time." A pause. "Not that there _should_ be a next time, of course. One should avoid to get in situations that could bring them here." Another pause. "Unless of course they're the victim and in which case, _of course_ they should go to a police officer as soon as possible and ask for help, and-"

Harry sighed and tuned out as the man began explaining every possibility in which being slightly late could be forgivable and those where punctuality was a mandatory.

"… and of course if you happen to _work_ for New Scotland Yard being at the right place and at the right moment is a must," he finished. "Not early, not late, just on time."

"We were supposed to be talking about the cabinet, weren't we?"

The man dazedly shook his head. "Yes, yes," he said as he took a fountain pen. "First thing first, which wood was the cabinet made of?"

The next fifteen minutes were spent answering the man questions, each one more precise and ridiculous than the previous one. And the more Harry had to answer, the more pissed he was.

The only silver lining in this mess was that the muggle was getting as annoyed as Harry. "You cannot honestly tell me this was a normal fire," he groaned. "Five minutes. It didn't even take five minutes! How is that even possible for a piece of furniture this size to be reduced to nothing but ashes in less than five minutes?"

Harry couldn't help but drawl, "Well, that's the thing about vanishing cabinets: they vanish."

The inspector stilled. For a few blessed seconds, he didn't say anything. Finally, he very carefully put down his pen.

His moustache was uncontrollably twitching when he said in a low voice, "You must think you're being very funny but I'm afraid to tell you this is no laughing matter. A man was spotted near the theatre-"

"A man with a ruff that could very well be a clown as far as we know."

"And a substance able to burn down a heave furniture like a cabinet in less than five minutes was used. Are you so blind you cannot see how dangerous such substance can be?"

"And how am I supposed to know what this mysterious substance is? Do you really think we'd purposefully put something that dangerous on something entirely made of wood?"

"No but you know somebody who did."

"We told you we do not recognize this man!"

"And we both know you're lying."

Harry groaned and angrily ran a hand through his hair. "You realize how ridiculous this is? Why are you so focused on how the cabinet couldn't have burned? It did! And why are you so sure it burnt down too quickly? Have you burnt down a cabinet like this one to see if that was the case?"

The man paused and looked away.

"You did?" he incredulously asked.

The inspector mumbled, "The scientific method is clear: if you have a theory, you must prove or disprove it."

Harry couldn't believe it. "How long did it take?" he asked out of morbid curiosity.

"Nineteen minutes and twenty four seconds. And that was the one with gasoline."

Harry had nothing to say to that.

"There are also more poofs I've gathered that indicate there is more to the case at hand-"

"The _case_?"

"So if you do not want to be involved in the case I'm building you should start talking. Right now."

The man hadn't finished his sentence that the door behind Harry opened.

"Not now."

But the man at the door ignored him. "The superintendent wants to see you. Right now."

The inspector froze. "The superintendent?" he dreadfully asked, his buffy moustache seemingly freezing in dread.

"Right now. And from what I've seen, you _really_ shouldn't make him wait too long."

The inspector winced. "Would you please keep an eye on him while I go see the superintendent?"

He shrugged. "I'll let the door to my office open."

"Thank you." Turning to Harry, he declared, "This is not over."

Once the man left his office the policeman sighed. "Why are you here?" Once Harry told him he rolled his eyes. "Some really have too much time to waste here." Looking at something outside, he shrugged and left the room.

Now that Harry was alone, he let out a loud sigh.

There was no doubt now: the man was _never_ going to give up. If they didn't do anything to make him stop, this hell was never going to end.

But what could they do? They couldn't use magic, how could they drive the man to stop looking?

Harry thought about it. After a moment, he got up from the chair he was sitting on and went behind the inspector's desk to search the papers on the table.

The problem, Harry decided, was that they did not know the man at all. Hell Harry didn't even know his name. The man could be Jack the Ripper himself and they wouldn't know any better. But if they knew him, if they had something on the man, perhaps they could find something to make him stop looking in their business.

The top drawer was locked but his enchanted pen knife quickly took care of the lock. Looking at the perfectly organized papers inside, Harry tried to find the 'case' the man had been building or something that could be useful.

Sadly, while the drawers did contain a few documents on several cases, none seemed to be about the vanishing cabinet. Giving up he began to look at the other things he could see.

Seeing a heavy envelope with no address, Harry took it and retrieved what was less a letter and more a roman written in the man's elegant handwriting.

Seeing the first two words, Harry's mind suddenly stopped.

 _Doctor Doyle,_

 _In light of the lack of answer to the letters I sent you on the 6th of January, the 15th of March, and the 4th of July, I must once again take my pen and point out the few inaccuracies you've made on your stories, which can range from gross exaggerations to outright continuity errors regarding the events in your story and the dates they are supposedly taking places. Indeed, in_ A Study in Scarlet _, you wrote that…_

The twenty or so pages were filled with the man pointing out continuity errors after continuity errors and him pondering whether or not some deductions Sherlock Holmes made could reliably be called deductions and not only wild guesses.

Harry quickly felt very sorry for the author who was also being harassed by the man who by the end had begun a crusade on how Sherlock Holmes couldn't have just died in _The Final Problem_ , and what a terrible literally choice killing such character was.

 _… I naturally understand that, as you are the author, the decision to discontinue the adventures of Sherlock Holmes is yours and yours alone. Nevertheless, I feel like it is my duty as an avid reader of yours to at minimum ask you to reconsider. You must have realized by now: Sherlock Holmes has become more than a character. He has become a symbol of logic, and a new era where science and pure logic have replaced ignorance and close-mindedness. I firmly believe that the story of Sherlock Holmes will drive many in the police force to outdo themselves and work for a fairer justice. This is why we need him to show us the path to take in this century that is about to begin.  
_

 _Awaiting your reply,_

 _Robert Granger._

Harry hadn't finished reading the letter that he heard a cough.

Inspector Granger crossed his arms. "Well, well, well. You sure have some explaining to do there."


	30. The Show must go on Part4

Inspector Granger carefully looked at Harry. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

That man was Hermione's ancestor.

"No really. Why are you looking at me like that?"

 _That man was Hermione's ancestor._

When Harry told him the man he knew a girl named Granger he scoffed. "Granger hardly is a rare name," he dryly stated.

And yet Harry just knew this man was either a great-grandfather or a great-great-grandfather of his friend. That bushy mustache, that annoying stubbornness… If Harry had troubles finding in the Weasley of this time the Ron he knew, he could now see clearly his Hermione in this Robert Granger who had caught him red-handed.

What were the odds? In the millions of people currently living in the UK, what were the odds he'd meet in muggle London his best friend's ancestor?

But the man clearly didn't care about Harry's existential crisis for he put the pen knife he's found on the table between them. "You realize bringing a weapon here is illegal, I hope. Attempting to steal too, I suppose. The fact that I'm a police inspector and I could have been keeping confidential documents in there doesn't help either." Closing his drawer, he drawled, "I've always thought a wrongdoer attempting any crime in here, more than a sign of bravery, was evidence of pure stupidity. What were you looking for by the way?"

Harry didn't answer.

"After what you did, a single word from me will be enough for you to spend a _long_ time behind bars. So you should finally start talking. Now."

Sensing the man meant what he was saying Harry sighed. "Nothing really."

"So you're a kleptomaniac," he dryly stated. "A kleptomaniac or a young man who hasn't been taught not to put his nose into other people's business."

Harry considering a moment telling that was the pot calling the kettle back but chose against it. He knew he couldn't afford being difficult anymore.

It was a miracle the man hadn't dragged him to a cell already. He didn't know why he hadn't already done so, in fact.

"The knife was for defending myself," he carefully began. "I've been told London was a dangerous city with… with Jack the Ripper and..."

The man's left eyebrow twitched. "That case happened nine years ago."

"Well, you never know. The police didn't catch him so he could come back at any time. The police's never caught him so..."

"Even if he was coming back, are you a woman of little virtue?"

"That doesn't mean London cannot be dangerous."

The man sighed but didn't contest the point. "The knife, I can more or less understand, but searching my desk? Why did you pick the lock to my drawer?" He paused. "Come to think of it, _how_ did you open the lock? You've got no utensil on you that could do the job."

Giving a suspicious look in the direction of said drawer, he caressed the lock with his hand.

"And you didn't force the lock either so how did you do it?"

Harry tried a shrug. "You probably forgot to lock it."

"I _always_ lock my drawer. Always. I ever remember doing it right before you came. So how did you do it? How?"

The man intently looked at said drawer, seemingly forgetting Harry was ever there. Finally he startled and suspiciously looked at the pen knife on the table.

Harry's heart stopped.

For a moment that seemed to last an eternity, the man strangely looked at the pen knife charmed to open any lock. Finally he vividly shook his head. "Nah, can't be. I suppose you're right. I must have forgotten to lock it."

It took everything for Harry not to sigh in pure relief.

"Nevertheless, you opened my drawer and was looking for something. So what was it? What were you searching that was worth getting in a lot of troubles? What are you and that magician hiding?"

It was clear the man wouldn't let him stay quiet any longer. Harry tried to see a way out of this mess, something he could say that'd lead the man to a merry path and let him escape his office relatively unscathed.

He had tried to find something on the man so he could somehow know what to use against him. Unfortunately, the most he got was that he was one of these rabid Sherlock Holmes fans and Hermione's great-grandfather. In other words, he had nothing.

As soon as he thought that, Harry shook his head.

 _It's got to be enough._

It had to be enough because if it was not, Harry was toast. Nobody was going to save him, so Harry had to save himself. His back might be against the wall, he was going to fight all he'd have to in order to get out of this mess.

"Well?"

"I wanted to understand, alright?"

The man paused. "Understand what?"

"Why you're obsessed with this story."

Rule one of being a seer: lie as little as possible. If Instector Granger was anything like his great-granddaughter, he'd spot any lie in his story in a second so Harry had no choice but to tell the truth.

All he needed to do was to satisfy the man's curiosity enough he'd story looking where Harry _really_ didn't want him to.

A snort. "I thought that was obvious by now: a cabinet than burnt down until there was nothing but ashes in mere minutes, a man not even trying to save his work, me waking up without any memory on how I lost conciousness..."

"We told you: you entered Mr. Evans' room to check for the vanishing cabinet's bluepr-"

"That's a lie."

These words were said in a tone that made it clear he had no doubt about it.

"I would _never_ go to Mr. Evans' room," he added. "Not without good reasons at the very least so what was I doing there in the first place?"

Harry looked at him a moment. "You tried to enter the storage room to see the cabinet though. Why wouldn't you-"

"I asked a street kid to do it because I needed an excuse to give him one pound," he interrupted with a roll of his eyes. "Now, I'm not saying I didn't try to discover how this whole vanishing cabinet worked but going to Mr. Evans' room to find blueprints he most certainly made? That'd be cheating. _"_

Harry drew back.

"Cheating?" he numbly repeated.

The inspector paused before looking away. "Well, it'd defeat the purpose, wouldn't it?" he tried to explain himself. "I mean, if I were to get the answer like this I'd- Hold on a minute, who is interrogating whom there?"

But Harry wasn't listening anymore. And soon enough his mouth opened in shock.

A man who'd regularly go see magic shows and harrass a magician into revealing his secrets. A person who'd go to great lengths to find out how it was done and yet hadn't all things considered bothered them when Harry was making the other cabinet and just asked questions outside the theater rather than get inside or search the storage room for evidence. A man who'd refuse to get to the man's room when he had no problem with the rest of the theater. A police inspector saying he wouldn't do what Harry had accused him of because that'd be 'cheating'...

Harry couldn't help gapping as he finally saw the truth. "You don't hate Mr. Evans at all, do you? You're-You're his _fan_."

Inspector Granger gave me a puzzled look. "In what way am I a means of keeping oneself cool?"

Harry hid his face behind his hands and moaned.

There was no doubt about it now. Robert Granger was one of these people who needed to show everybody they got it, they knew how it worked and don't you want to know how it's done? Here, let me tell you even though you haven't asked me anything. He was one of these men who'd write an entire roman on how his favourite character did something or tell the author what Sherlock Holmes did in the latest story was just out of character at this point. He was that person who'd go to every show and seek the magician only to tell him he has figured out how the whole thing worked.

Hermione's ancestor wasn't actually putting his bushy mustache in Mr. Evans' businness because he hated him and believed him to be some criminal. At the end of the day, Inspector Granger was harrassing Mr. Evans for the same reason he was harrassing Conan Doyle. He was one of these annoying fans who kept pestering the people they admired, going to ridiculous lengths just to get their notice and yet meant no harm because, as far as they were concerned, it was just a game they enjoyed playing.

Harry wouldn't be surprised at this point to learn what Inspector Robert Granger was truly seeking more than the truth was just Mr. Evans telling him: well done inspector, ten points to Scotland Yard.

Inspector Granger dazedly shook his head. "You honestly think I'm doing all this because I hate Mr. Evans? I'm merely doing my job. Somebody comes and attacks a policeman before attempting arsony? _Of course_ the police is going to get involved and try to get to the bottom of this. It's the opposite that'd be disturbing."

Harry paused.

The man had been extremely annoying and causing quite a lot of troubles ever since he's started investigating all this mess. But at the same time he was _the only one_ who was at least trying to do something about the situation the Evans were in. Mr. Evans was just taking the brunt of it and letting wizards harass him when he was just doing his job, Mrs. Evans was just gritting her teeth and trying to support her husband the best she could, and Harry for how much he disliked the situation was trying to cover everything up.

The man seemed to realize he was reconsidering the entire situation for he told him, "You realize your silence is only protecting the ones responsible for this mess, don't you? You're not protecting your relatives, you're not even protecting yourself, you're protecting _them_."

Harry flinched.

It was not as if he had a choice, Harry weakly protested. Were Harry to attempt something, it was certain it'd be the Evans who'd pay for his recklessness. Moreover, Harry couldn't afford to make waves and he wasn't the Boy-Who-Lived in this era. He could try to shout this was unfair all he liked, nobody was going to listen to a nobody like him and it wouldn't change anything.

But no matter how hard he tried to convince himself, all these reasons sounded more like excuses.

Inspector Granger leant back in his chair and checked his watch. "It is getting rather late. Considering I intend to go home before sunset, I suppose we could end this little interrogation and call it a day."

Harry abruptly left his musing and incredulously looked at him. "You're not going to arrest me?"

The inspector got up and grabbed his coat. "For what?"

Harry spluttered, "W-Well… The desk. I-"

"Oh that?" Finishing putting his coat on, he shrugged. "You didn't get anything valuable so I don't see why I'd waste my entire night filling all that paperwork. I'm going to have a very long day tomorrow so I need all the sleep I can get. I keep that weapon though, so you should hurry up before _Jack the Ripper_ comes after you."

* * *

It was not fair.

That was the thought that kept eating Harry as he was walking to the Evans' home.

He kicked the rock on his path in rage.

 _It was not fair!_

Why couldn't that inspector be some horrible person like the Dursleys? The inspector was supposed to be some hound who'd harm the Evans if he knew the truth, he wasn't supposed to be a decent man! The _one_ person who probably was a decent authority figure, why did Harry have to find him now?

Harry was still brooding when he came back. And he was still brooding during dinner. And it was in a tight voice he told Mr. Evans what happened and what he's found, though he didn't mention the part where he got caught searching the man's desk.

Mr. Evans seemed thoughtful for a moment. "I had a hunch that dear inspector liked harrassing me but it's nice to get some confirmation. Am I supposed to feel flattered though? Because, well..."

Harry gritted his teeth. "He probably believes he's helping you and- Why are we protecting that wizard who destroyed your cabinet?" he exclaimed. "Like, really, why?"

"You should know the answer to that one: the statute of secrecy must be protected."

"But not like this! It's not- It's not supposed to-"

Harry wanted to pull his hair and scream in rage. Finally he opted to punch the wall.

He hissed in pain.

"Wall wins," Mr. Evans remarked.

Harry suddenly felt very tired. "It's not supposed to work this way," he murmured.

The statute of secrecy was supposed to protect wizards from muggles who'd try to use or harm them if they knew magic was real. It wasn't supposed to give wizards like the one who came to cause troubles a mean to escape justice.

Mr. Evans sighed. "If we're being honest an instant, the idea of two separate worlds living in the same place is inherently flawed. Of course situations such as this one are going to arise from time to time. Question is: are you going to sacrifice all the good the statute of secrecy did for some trouble a bully causes? Are you going to go against the common good for a few individuals nobody really cares about? Secrets like the ones magicians like me and wizards like you are keeping must sometimes be protected, whatever the cost."

Harry was still ruminating these words when he went to bed.

The idea Harry had to weight the situation they were in with the statute of secrecy was unbearable. The idea of letting good people getting harrassed by bad people in the name of some common good was disgusting. The very fact Harry was supposed to condone this and hinder a man trying to help them made the situation even worse.

And at the same time the statute of secrecy had to be protected. If muggles were to find out about wizards a broken cabinet and a bastard like that Greengrass would be the least of their problem. They just couldn't risk it either.

But if both options were terrible, which one was Harry supposed to pick?

Harry tossed and turned the whole night, trying to find out which answer was the right one and wondering if it was in the name of some common good nobody in his time had done anything against all the injustices Harry and his friends' have witnessed.

* * *

Inspector Granger didn't come to the theater the next day.

"Well, he does have a job," Mr. Evans remarked when Harry pointed it out. "The good inspector's probably harrassing some petty thief as we speak. It's that or he's finally decided to give up."

Harry doubted it. If the man was remotely like his friend, he'd _never_ give up.

Mr. Evans sighed. "Yes, I'm not holding my breath either but, you know, one can dream. Come on now, the vanishing cabinet needs to be ready for tomorrow night."

At this point, all Harry and Mr. Evans needed to do was to make a few adjustment to make sure the cabinet would be fully operationnable for the big day.

When Mr. Evans declared the vanishing cabinet finished Harry couldn't stop a wide grin. And it wasn't without some pride that Harry looked at their vanishing cabinet.

Perhaps it was just in his head but it now seemed like this vanishing cabinet was glowing with some aura, as if there was something more to it than wood and nail, something other.

"That's a good sign," the magician commented. "If you believe it's going to work, then it most certainly is. Also I wouldn't be too surprised if that was indeed the case: when somebody put his heart and soul into something, he always leaves a part of himself behind so it is just possible some latent magic got into the wood."

Harry pondered these words. "Wouldn't that be troublesome with the Ministry? I mean, if I put my magic-"

"I seriously doubt anybody will ever bother looking at such level. And it's just an imprint, an echo. Condamning you over something like this would be like blaming a walker for leaving footprints behind. No, the audience will only get the impression there is more to it, though they will never know why. That being said, now that we're back in business we have to prepare tomorrow show."

Harry nodded and helped the rest of evening with the rehearsal. When the woman he now knew was the man's accomplice entered into the cabinet only to vanish Harry couldn't help grinning, a furious feeling of vinctive pleasure filling his veins as he saw that Greengrass hadn't managed to take that away.

"I must admit I was feeling a little worried," the accomplice told them once she reappeared. "But I'm glad to be proven wrong. Hopefully this one is not going the share the other's fate."

Harry's smile stilled. "What?"

The woman turned around. "Oh sorry, I shouldn't have said that. I know there's no reason at all to believe we'd get another accident like last week but-"

As the woman began telling the magician she'd always been a little supersticious and couldn't help seeing some terrible omen in that accidental fire, Harry finally realized with something akin to dread that the same wizard who had attacked him the week before could very well come back tomorrow night and destroy eveything they've built.

He could come back, and Harry would have no other choice but to watch him burn down _his_ cabinet.

* * *

With his luck, the odds that Brutus Greengrass would come back tomorrow were close to 100%.

One reason the wizard had destroyed the cabinet must have been to stop Mr. Evans' show. It should be only natural he'd come back to make sure his plan had worked.

Harry cursed himself.

It should have been obvious. Harry would have realized that ages ago. But he had been so focused on trying to insure Inspector Granger wouldn't find out about magic he had outright ignored te elephant in the room.

Tomorrow night, Harry and Mr. Evans were going to meet Auror Greengrass again. And like the last time, Harry wouldn't be allowed to use magic and defend himself.

"I've got to thank you," Mr. Evans commented as they walked home. "Your help has been precious."

Harry turned to the man. "It was the least I could do. I mean, you're letting me stay at your place."

"Still, you've worked hard during what should be your vacations. I think you should know I appreciate it."

Harry couldn't help feeling touched. "Thank you, sir."

"And I think you've earned some well-deserved rest. I've talked with Madam Malkins' and she agrees with me. So she kindly told me to tell you that you do not have to go to work tomorrow."

Harry sharply turned his head. "What?"

"You have the whole day off. So you can go do whatever wizards your age enjoy doing, see your friends if you want."

Harry dazedly shook his head. "But the show tomorrow-"

"Oh don't worry. You've done all the work I needed, I can take it from there."

"But-"

"I insist. Don't come to the theater tomorrow."

Of course, Harry numbly realized, if he had only figured out this wizard was going to be there not even ten minutes ago, the man mustn't have been as blind as Harry. It was in fact very likely he's known this for a long time.

Harry thought about protesting, about shouting he wasn't going to just stay back when the man would have to face the wizard.

But as Harry was about to open his mouth and just do that an ugly thought came.

 _You'd only be an hindrance._

Harry wasn't allowed to use magic. And even if he were to attempt to stop that wizard without magic, that Auror most certainly wouldn't hesitate using his wand. With the trace on him, Harry being in the theater tomorrow night would mean certain expulsion. And Harry _couldn't_ be expulsed.

No, there was nothing Harry could do. He had no choice but to let Mr. Evans face that man alone and all the work they've done vanish in smoke.

The man opened the door to the building. "After you."

Harry numbly looked at the man in front of him.

The day before he had been told situations like these were to be expected. That they were the price that had to be paid to protect the statute of secrecy. He had been told about some common good that had to be weighted.

But could Harry really do it? Could he really let this situation unfold and look away?

And was it really the right choice?

"Harry?"

Harry startled at the sound of his given name and incredulously looked at the green-eyed man.

The man seemed to notice his slip. "Sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"No, no, it's okay. I don't mind." He violently shook his head. "I just… I was just thinking I could try to see what muggle London looked like at night."

The man frowned before finally chuckling. "You want to do to the pub, don't you?"

"Yes."

The man laughed and handed him the key. "Try not to come back too late or too wasted will you? Because if you do, Maggie will literally jump on you. And let me tell you, she can be terrifying."

It was a good thing Harry had no intention to drink then.

* * *

One thing about New Scotland Yard was that the place was never closed. Criminals rarely slept at night after all and when Harry entered the building and said he needed to speak to Inspector Granger nobody made any mention of the time it was.

When Harry arrived in front of the door to Inspector Granger's office, the yelling at the other side of the door made it clear the man wasn't alone.

"I told you yesterday to drop it!" a deep masculine voice screamed.

"But-"

"Do you realize the situation you've put the whole department in, Granger?"

"But-"

"Let me tell you, it's a miracle Lady Carmichael is not considering pressing charges! What were you even thinking?"

"Her fingerprints were on the murder weapon!" Inspector Granger's deperate voice exclaimed.

"Oh, you and your fingerprints! Do you really believe they are worth anything?"

"They played a vital role to prove Francisca Rojas was guilty and-"

"That was in _Argentina_! Do you really believe anybody remotely sane here is going to accept that ridiculous idea these so-called fingerprints are unique? Grow up, Granger! This is the real world and we're not in one of these stupid stories you like reading!"

The man behind the door kept shouting and copiously insulting Inspector Granger. And the man's attempts to defend himself got weaker and weaker until Harry couldn't hear anything.

"You better not do something like that again, you hear me?" the voice finally hissed. "You step out of line one more time, you're fired."

The door abruptly opened and a pudgy man in uniform left the door mumbling a few insults behind his mustache.

When Harry looked at the man's office, Inspector Granger's head was down and everything in him was shouting defeat.

Even his mustache seemed down.

"Oh it's you," he said in a dead voice when he spotted Harry. He pinched his nose and deeply breathed. Would you- Would you please give me a minute? I've got- I've got something to finish first and- and-"

Harry uneasily looked at the man who seemed close to tears.

"You knew, didn't you?" Harry softly said.

"Know what?"

Inspector Granger had known Brutus Greengrass would come back. If it had taken Harry this long to figure it out, he must have realized this as soon as he had seen the vanishing cabinet burning down.

He hadn't just been harassing them because he was too curious for his own good, Inspector Granger had known they could be in danger and time might be playing against him.

"What do you want to know?"

The man blinked, as if he couldn't understand what Harry's just said.

Finally he tiredly whispered, "What was so special about that vanishing cabinet?"

Harry paused.

"I mean, think about it a second, that man had many options to hurt Mr. Evans. He could have destroyed any of the artefacts that were in his room, so why going to a locked storage room? Why using means insuring there would nothing left of it? Why going to such lengths to destroy what should be just a cabinet like any other?"

Harry painfully closed his eyes. "You think the vanishing cabinet was hiding some sort of secret."

He self-depreciately chuckled. "Well, it's either that of that arsonist thinks magic is real and he needed to destroy it at all cost."

Harry chuckled as well.

It was strange in a way. The vanishing cabinet had been destroyed, it had effetively vanished and yet it was because of its very destruction the statute of secrecy was endangered. It was not when it existed it had been a threat to the statute of secrecy, it was when that Auror had attempted to hide evidence of the wizarding world that Robert Granger has been given undeniable proof there was a secret they were all hiding from him.

"Well sorry to tell you, you were right: it was just a cabinet with a trap on the bottom."

The man abruptly raised his head and numbly looked at him.

Harry bit his lips.

He knew what madness it was. This was throwing the book out of the window and jumping from the top of a building without a broom and without the insurance somebody was going to save him.

But there was something inheritantly flawed with the whole thing, with separating people between wizards and non-wizards. With telling Harry he was supposed to support somebody like that Brutus and treat an otherwise decent man like Inspector Granger as if he was the real threat.

"What are you saying there?"

Harry considered his next words. "What's that thing Sherlock Holmes said about the improbable and the impossible?"

The answer was immediate, as if it's been learned by heart. " _Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth_." A pause, then curiously, "Why?"

It was taking a leap of faith. But at the same time it wasn't as hard as it had first looked like.

Because, at the end of the day, Harry knew Hermione had inherited from that man more than her bossiness and her bushy hair.

"Maybe you've eliminated too early something you thought was impossible and was just extremely improbable."


	31. The Show must go on Part5

Convincing Inspector Granger magic was real wasn't easy.

It shouldn't have been surprising. Like his descendant, Robert Granger had a very set view on how the world was supposed to be and it was only natural the odds of him accepting magic could be real were as high as Hermione acknowledging Divination could be more than one gigantic scam.

Nonetheless, for the man to have a fighting chance to handle the wizard harassing the Evans, he _needed_ to know what he was going to face. Meaning Harry had to outright break the statute of secrecy, an offense that was much more serious than moonlighting as a magician or just using magic on muggles just to have a shadow of a chance to get everybody out of this mess.

Inspector Granger nervously ran a hand through his hair. "You've got to realize how… how _mad_ this all sounds, right?" he agitatedly said once Harry was done explaining the situation. "Like- like- I'm not entirely convinced you're not pulling my leg and just want to see how gullible I am. I should- I shouldn't even consider such- such _madness_."

"Then why are you?"

A wet snort. "Maybe I'm a little mad myself. And also-"

"Yes?"

The man closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. "Well, I _have_ to listen, don't I?" Harry frowned but the inspector wasn't finished. "If you believe your family to be in danger, I've got to listen to you. What I think about this whole 'magic is real' business and what you believing it says on your sanity is irrelevant."

Harry hadn't known what to say to that.

The older man slowly retrieved a cigarette from his cigarette box. "If I understand you correctly, Mr. Evans' stories on the existence of a magic world living right next to ours are, in fact, utterly true and the man's angered a few people who wants to keep this secret world secret. Am I correct so far?" Seeing Harry nodding he continued, "But you've just told me yourself that vanishing cabinet was a normal cabinet like any other. So why would these people be worried?"

"Well, here's the thing: they don't know that."

The man couldn't stop a snort as he was searching for his lighter. "Jumping to conclusion, aren't they? But then again, anything can look like witchcraft to small-minded people."

He then paused and frowned, as if considering something of great importance.

"Magic is real," Harry insisted. Seeing the man startling he pushed, "I know it sounds mad. Trust me, I've been there, but you need to understand just what these people can do. Last time you confronted that man, you couldn't do anything and he erased your memories. If you don't-"

"He _what_?"

"You came to me," Harry started explaining. "I don't remember it myself but I'm sure it's what happened. You came to me because you've seen that person and found him suspicious. As you probably were uneasy, you must have asked me if I knew this person and we went to Mr. Evans' room. Seeing things were going sour you tried to intervene and he attacked you." Seeing the man slightly freaked out face he asked, "What did you think happened?"

"I-I don't know. I-I assumed somebody had attacked me from behind and chloroformed me. True, it doesn't work like it does in novels but I had no injury so- so that surely had to be it, right? Even though no known drug can incapacitate a normally built man and erase an hour of his memories without the slightest side effect."

When the man finally lit his cigarette, his hand was shaking.

"A-And there is also no known substance that could burn a furniture this size so quickly and leave nothing but ashes either so how? How did this all happen and what kind of mess did your lot get yourself into?"

Harry painfully closed his eyes. How many times would he have to tell the man magic was genuine?

Inspector Granger abruptly searched his pocket. Before Harry could ask him what he was doing the man retrieved a little siler key he put on his drawer's keyhole. Once he opened his drawer he retrieved a pen knife before abruptly closing said drawer and lock it. With shaky fingers, he opened the pen knife and put the blade in the lock.

The strangled noise he left out when the drawer opened made Harry wince.

"Oh God, it's actually true." Face rapidly losing all colours, he shakily put the pen knife back in his pocket. "It's actually true. It's actually true. It's actually-"

And Inspector Granger utterly lost it.

* * *

Mrs. Evans carefully looked at him the next morning and slowly crossed her arms. "Alright, what happened now? What did you do?"

Harry cried over his tea cup.

The people at Scotland Yard had told him once Inspector Granger was forcefully taken away that the man had the bad habit of overworking himself. They had also assured him that with some well-deserved rest, the man was most certainly going to be fine.

But if the people at Scotland Yard believed it was the last case he had to deal with and the superintendent's remontrance that did it, Harry knew _he_ was the one responsible for the man's burn out and him losing it.

Looking at his empty tea cup Harry could see the tea leaves had taken the shape of a butterfly. Remembering the animal who was still flying around him from time to time, Harry irrationally wondered if he hadn't just permanently removed the man from the world of the sanes and if his friend would even be born after what he's just done. Why did that shit always happen to him? Why did he always have to make the wrong choices? Why did that shit always befell him?

"I'm a failure."

The woman rolled her eyes.

"I thought- I thought I was doing the right thing but I failed and now it's worse and-"

"Believe me," she dryly interrupted, "I've seen a lot of failures in my life. Do you know what they all had in common? It's not that they failed at something, it's that they loved feeling sorry for themselves and wouldn't even lift a finger to get themselves out of their mess. Is it really what you're going to do? Sadly look at your teacup until your problems magically fix themselves?" A pause. " _Can_ your problems magically fix themselves?"

Harry miserably shook his head.

"Well then, you've got no choice but to fix them the normal way."

"Which is?"

"You're going to work for it."

Harry looked at the butterfly in his teacup and sighed. "I'm not sure I can."

"That's not a good enough reason not to try."

Harry sighed and tiredly nodded. "Right, sorry."

"What did I just say about feeling sorry?"

Harry couldn't help a little smile. "Sorry. I mean- I'm going to see what I can do." When he finally got up the woman took his teacup. "Do you want me to help with cleaning the dishes?"

The woman waved a hand as if to say 'get out'. "Stop stalling."

"Right, sor- I'm going now."

Once Harry finally left the Evans' home he sighed.

It was easy to say he was going to fix it, he really had no idea what he could realistically do. If Harry couldn't use magic and stop this Auror Greengrass what could he realistically do? Find the man in the wizarding world and threaten him to stop?

Harry didn't like how tempting the idea was.

It wouldn't be hard, he reasoned. If the man was indeed an Auror he would most certainly be at the Ministry of magic and the trace would most certainly not react there meaning that Harry-

Somebody grabbed him by the collar.

Before Harry could scream bloody murder the man dragged him in a darkened alley.

"You've got some serious explaining to do," the man gravelly said.

For a moment Harry didn't recognize the man in cheap muggle clothes but looking at the man's bushy moustache Harry just breathed, "How did you get out?"

"Sorry to disappoint but I wasn't sent to the asylum," the man dryly answered. "I was just told to stay in bed and rest. Doctor's orders. But how can I rest when I know what I know now?"

It was then that Harry noticed the man's haggard face and Harry couldn't stop a wince at the realization the man hadn't slept at all. "Sorry."

"Sorry?" He lowly chuckled. "You come to my office to tell me of the existence of honest to God magic, I have to go through something similar to a copernican revolution and you have the gall to say 'sorry'?"

Seeing Harry didn't have nothing to say he shook his head and began searching for his cigarette box. Once he lit a cigarette he sighed. "To think I've always called the people believing in all these conspiracy theories gullible idiots. But how can you possibly keep such secret secret? Magic?" Seeing Harry's apologetic face he sighed. "Of course, it is magic. But _why_? Why is the existence of magic some big secret? It's- It's completely illogical."

"Well, I'm not good at History of magic-" At these words the man rolled his eyes "-but the gist of it is that there were many conflicts between wizards and muggles, non-magical people, and it was judged in the seventeenth century that it'd be better for wizards and muggles to live separately."

"Conflicts?"

"Witch burning, that sort of thing."

The man absent-mindedly nodded. "That part makes sense at least. The part about you succeeding in not being found out less so but what do I know?" He bitterly laughed. "What do I know indeed."

Harry winced. "You- I'm sure you know more a lot of people."

The muggle wetly snorted.

"I mean it," Harry insisted. "The world- The world hasn't just- You're just seeing it in a different way. It's- It's all a matter of perception."

The man numbly nodded. "True, very true. But isn't the world we live in nothing but that? Perception? We've got to rely on our senses for how imperfect they can be. We are nothing but prisoners of our own senses after all, condemned to stay in the cave and attempt to make sense the shadows we see in order to find something resembling the truth."

Harry paused a moment.

"Still, before yesterday I could at least comfort myself with the idea that at the very least _I_ was real. Cogito ergo sum. I think, therefore I am. But why do I get the feeling even that is false? If somebody can erase my memories, can't that same person pose false ones and I wouldn't know any better? How can I know my own memories are real? How can I know that _I_ am real?"

Harry winced at the realization of how deep the man's existential crisis was running. "There are things magic cannot do," he tried. "Nothing can create gold, nobody can live forever or create life and you cannot create love. There are rules in the universe even magic cannot break. You just- You just don't know them."

The man didn't say anything for a long time. Finally he sighed. "Back to square one, am I?"

"Not really. I mean, you know magic is real now. So you know more than before."

The man gave him a humourless smile. "I suppose I do."

After smoking for several seconds, the man exhaled a big cloud of smoke.

"Nonetheless, I'm afraid I don't understand what you're expecting me to do. If some magician-"

"Wizard."

"If some wizard wants to harm Patrick Evans, I do not see what I can effectively do to stop him."

Harry stilled. Because yes, what could a little inspector do against an Auror? What could a muggle do against the elite of the wizarding world?

It had been so easy to forget this fact. At the revelation the man was Hermione's relative, he had been very quick to believe the man like his descendant would somehow find some way to solve this big mess like she had so many times. Had Hermione been there, had _Ron_ been there, Harry wouldn't be feeling like he was drowning. Were his friends here, perhaps he could fool himself into thinking he could do it.

The man looked at him and sighed. "Fine, fine. I'll go down the rabbit hole." At Harry's confused face he shrugged. "You must be very worried for Mr. Evans if you're ready to break some very important law of this magic world and I don't believe that worry is unwarranted. I may not know what I'm going against, that doesn't mean I can't learn and see what can be done."

Harry opened his mouth in shock. After rapidly shaking his head he spluttered, "You're- You're a muggle. Wh-Why would you help-"

And Inspector Granger looked at him as if he was the densest man on earth.

"Why would I help you? Because that's my job."

* * *

There was something utterly surreal in bringing Robert Granger to the Leaky Cauldron and breaking yet another law.

But Harry had already come this far. What was one more rule at this point? He's made his choice and the bushy-haired man was right: they had to go down the rabbit hole and Harry had to show him what magic could do.

"Let me guess," the muggle said as they entered the pub, "there's some secret passage leading to that magic world there."

"Correct." Once the two of them reached the courtyard Harry began searching his pocket.

The man snorted and tapped with a finger the brick that any wizard wishing to enter Diagon Alley had to tap. "And now you're going to take some magic wand and tap that brick."

Harry paused. "What makes you say that?" he carefully asked. "And why that brick?"

"The marks on the brick mostly. It's like somebody had repeatedly hit it with a thick and long object." He humorlessly chuckled and removed his hand. "But what do I know really? It's not as if there's anything logical in all thi-"

The man abruptly stopped when the bricks disappeared to form a large archway where at the other side numerous people in colourful robes where walking in what looked like a street."

Harry put his wand back in his pocket. "Suppose you know more than you think."

The muggle shakily reached for his cigarette box.

* * *

"Alright, I've got questions," Robert Granger finally said after finishing yet another cigarette to calm his nerves. "I've got a lot of questions."

Harry's lips curled. "I'm sure you do."

And sure enough the man started bombarding him with questions Harry had to answer on the spot as he was searching for a quiet place.

Yes, that was an honest to God wand. Yes, he needed it to do magic. No, he didn't know how to use magic without one. Yes, he supposed it was possible to do wandless magic but he had never seen anybody really using it except perhaps Professor Dumbledore but Professor Dumbledore hardly counted. Yes, unicorns were real. Dragons and leprechauns too.

Soon enough the salve of questions got more technical and Harry started to get the impression he was undergoing yet another test to show whether or not he had memorized his lesson. And, like it was the case whenever Hermione was doing it, Harry wasn't supposed to answer 'I don't know'.

"How can you not know that?" his friend's ancestor exclaimed once Harry failed to answer yet another of his questions. "If I were in your place and had to learn magic, the first thing I'd do would be to read everything on-"

"I know!" Harry irritatedly interrupted. "Believe me, I know. I even know more than anybody what kind of pupil you probably were at school. But this isn't school and I certainly don't need you to-"

"I've never been to school."

Harry's thoughts came to a sudden halt. For a moment Harry could do nothing but numbly stare at the man who seemed to have declared the Earth was flat.

The older man looked away.

It was Victorian England, he numbly realized. It was Victorian England where only rich kids went to school and poor kids had to work. If very few things seemed to have changed in the wizarding world, Harry seemed to have taken the habit of forgetting just how alien the muggle world was to a person from the late twentieth century and how unfair it could have been.

"Sorry."

The man didn't acknowledge the apology. He just leant against the building and looked at the wizards passing by, face inscrutable.

"It's funny," he finally said. "Ever since I learnt to read, I did everything to learn as much as I could. I tried to understand how this world works and now as I was starting to believe I had the basics down I realize that I know nothing and that everything I learnt is most probably untrue." He bitterly chuckled. "I wonder why I even bothered."

Harry winced.

He wanted to say something. He wanted to say something but he couldn't see what. This sort of problem was way out of his league and he doubted anything Harry could say would manage to reach the man. But at the same time Harry knew he needed to just do something.

"You found out how Mr. Evans's tricks work," Harry tried. "I didn't, the man that burnt down the cabinet didn't, and these people here wouldn't have either. That has to count for something, no?"

A man incredulously snorted. "Anybody could have found that one out. The only reason that man hadn't is most certainly because he hadn't cared enough to try."

And Harry understood. "But you have. You care."

Later Harry would probably say the man cared too much. But in a world when everybody would turn their head in front of an injustice and say there was nothing they could do perhaps caring a little too much was better than not caring at all.

"I've got this friend," he began. "She's very clever and is way better at magic than I am. A friend even called her 'the brightest witch of her age' and she did amazing things. She… She even solved a thousand years old mystery on her own when she was thirteen."

"A thousand years you say?" the man said after a moment.

Harry nodded. "But you know what she told me when I said she was a better witch than me? She said there were more important things than books and cleverness. Some things are more important than what we learn at school, or what little trivia we try to learn. Things like friendship, and bravery. I'm sure she'd say caring is just as important as the other two. And that it is far more important than knowing."

And maybe there was nothing Harry Potter could say that'd shake Robert Granger out of his mood. But if Harry Potter couldn't find the right words, perhaps Hermione Granger could. Maybe the only words that could reach Robert Granger were his great-granddaughter's.

The man didn't say anything at first. Slowly a small smile appeared on his face and he softly chuckled. "Well I'm pathetic. Needing to be mollycoddled when I should be the one helping you. I'm pathetic and I'm stupid. I'm stupid, and your friend is very wise. I hope you realize how just lucky you are to have a friend like her."

Harry grinned. "I do."

Looking at the people in the street, he sharply nodded, as if he's made a decision. "Alright then. I suppose it's time for us to leave this strange world." Looking at Harry he explained himself. "I know what I need to know. No point in wasting more time on all that magical business that will lead nowhere."

Harry drew back at these words. "Lead nowhere? But, this is an Auror and-"

"So?" Seeing Harry's spluttering he amusedly shook his head. "I understand your worries, Mr. Potter, and I don't doubt you when you say a wizard can be _very_ dangerous. But while I admit I have not dealt with a wizard before I can assure you I have dealt with _a lot_ of dangerous people who want to cause troubles."

* * *

When Inspector Granger told him to go back to the Evans' apartment, Harry couldn't help protesting.

The older man raised an eyebrow. "Didn't you tell me yourself you couldn't be at the theater because of some 'trace'?"

Harry reluctantly nodded. "But if he-"

"If he were to become violent and attack me or Mr. Evans, I most certainly wouldn't want a civilian to be caught in the crossfire." Seeing Harry's face the expression on his face softened. "Everything's going to be fine," he assured him. "And I know this is difficult to do but you've got to trust me there."

Harry looked at the man and sighed. "I'll try," he mumbled.

"That's all I ask." The man paused. "Well, maybe there _is_ another thing I want to ask you."

Harry couldn't help smiling. "What do you want to know, sir?"

"What's your relation with Mr. Evans?"

Harry startled.

"Every since you came I've been wondering whether you were a nephew, a half-sibling, a cousin or if you were more distantly related. Problem is, I didn't find anything on you on the civil records and all I got on Mr. Evans is his marriage licence. I suppose that is understandable now but I… May I know just how closely the two of you are related?"

"We-We're not related." Seeing the man's dubitative face he insisted, "I met him at my school and as I didn't have a place to stay for the holidays he was kind enough to let me stay."

"You met him at your school." Seeing him nodding, he continued, "And he just let you stay at his home. And he- How did he even know you needed to place to stay to begin?"

"W-Well, he had to grab something near Kings' Cross and he saw me a little… overwhelmed at the station so he…"

The man dubiously looked at him. "I suppose it doesn't ultimately matter how closely the two of you are related," he finally decided. "Siblings, cousins once or twice or I don't know how many times removed, two people not sharing a drop of the same blood… There is most probably no hierarchy and no rule when it comes to what makes a family." The man took his watch and looked at the time. "Oh well, it's getting late. I need to make a little detour before going to the theatre so I should probably leave now. Until next time."

Harry numbly looked at the retreating figure wondering what could have given him the idea he and Mr. Evans could be family.

They didn't look very alike, he thought as he headed home. If there was _one_ thing they perhaps had in common it was probably the fact they both had green eyes but while it was not very common colour, that didn't mean two green-eyed people were necessarily related.

But the man had been so convinced he was right and he had never been wrong the other times. So what? What did he see that Harry just couldn't?

Harry had barely knocked that the door of the Evans's home abruptly opened.

Mrs. Evans' high bun seemed to have seen better day and with several strands of dark hair on her face it was clear the woman was agitated by something.

"What happened?"

"My husband forgot his watch."

Harry drew back, surprised how something seemingly insignificant could upset her so much. "So?"

"You don't get it!" Pacing like a lion in cage she began ranting, "Patrick _never_ forgets his watch! It-It was his father's so he _never_ departs from it and- And he should have noticed by now he doesn't have it and he would have gone home to grab it so-so- Wh-Why wouldn't take it before going to work? I-I was about to go to the theatre and give it to him when you came. Did you come to grab it for him? No, no he wouldn't do that. He'd rather do the travel himself and-and why aren't you with my husband right now?" she finally accused.

Seeing the fob watch Harry had seen the man checking so many times on the table, Harry suddenly had a bad feeling. "You say it was his father's. He was a clockmaker, right?

"Y-Yes. He'd make magic watches for big clients."

Taking the closed silver watch in his hand, he asked, "So is it possible that this watch is charmed?"

She wetly sniffed. "It is. I've never managed to open it so I don't know what it does but I know he always checks it before a representation or when he is worried. S-So why didn't he come back for it? Why did he-"

Harry opened the watch. Looking at the dial, the first thing that struck him as odd were the numerous hands of different colours and size. The second thing he noticed were the planets that were where one would expect the numbers to be, and a few rocks Harry suspected represented moons moving counterclockwise.

Behind his shoulder, Mrs. Evans incredulously snorted. "And you can _actually_ read the time with that?"

"I-I suppose you can."

Remembering the man would sometimes tap the crystal, Harry gently gave it a poke. Immediately the hands and the stars disappeared to be replaced by a more traditional dial.

"Well, that's better."

Except the second hand was moving backward. It wasn't a clock, it was a countdown timer. But what was it counting down?

And then Harry finally looked at the image at the center of the dial. And when he did, he bolted out of the apartment, running as fast as his legs would let him.

He might not know how that thing worked, there was no way to misunderstand what the skull was supposed to represent.

* * *

Some time later in the darkened theatre, a man behind the curtain was looking at a cabinet.

Putting a hand against the closed door, he mused for quite a long time. Finally dropping his hand he sighed and went to take a trolley.

He was about to take the cabinet and put it on the it when the piece of furniture started hoovering.

He sighed and turned his head. "Brutus," he greeted the man behind him who had his wand pointed in the cabinet's direction.

 _"_ Patrick." The man looked at the cabinet. "You know, I could have sworn the curse I put on your cabinet would be enough to break it down. So you can only imagine my surprise when I saw you using a cabinet tonight as if nothing I did was enough to stop -how do you call it again? Ah yes- your show tonight."

 _"_ Let me reassure you then: your spellcasting is as good as ever and that cabinet is not the one you destroyed."

The man smirked. "And do you honestly believe this one will not share the same fate? That I couldn't have destroyed it right when you were on stage and everybody was looking at you? You've always been optimistic but even you at this point must realize doing the same thing over and over again and expect a different result is pure stupidity."

 _"_ Believe me, I have. I have, and I think it's time to do something."

The man slowly nodded. "So that's why you wanted us to talk about. I suppose I can humour you just this time. What do you want?"

 _"_ I don't think we should talk about this here. I've asked the staff to leave early but you never know."

 _"_ Very well." The man moved his wand and the cabinet obediently followed him. Seeing the squib raising his eyebrows he explained. "I'm going to destroy it later and I don't want to spend more time than necessary in this… muggle place. Better to destroy it somewhere else, don't you think? Somewhere nobody will see what is going to happen."


	32. Curtain

It was night when Harry finally reached the theatre. Holding Mr. Evans' watch tightly, he looked at the object he suspected had started the countdown to Mr. Evans' death.

If he understood how that thing worked, he still had forty minutes before the countdown ended. Forty minutes before Mr. Evans' death.

Distantly, he wondered how a fob watch could actually predict such thing. If there was _one_ thing he's learnt in his time studying divination, it was that predicting anything to the second should be outright impossible. How long one had before death even less. It was against everything he's ever learnt. And yet here it was. In his hands, Harry was holding an artifact whose power he could scarcely comprehend and telling him how long there was until the reaper came.

Well, he furiously thought as he gripped the watch even tighter, not on his watch.

The second hand stopped a moment. Suddenly it went backward, faster than before until there were nothing but thirty minutes.

Harry swore and put the enchanted in his pocket. Seeing nobody around, he took his wand in hand and headed to the entrance.

It was when he pulled the door handle that he realized that the door was unlocked. Considering there was only one key and the man having it wouldn't make such basic mistake, it was clear what had happened.

His grip on his wand tightened. Trying to make as little noise as possible, Harry opened the door and entered the dark theater. Looking left and right, he listened, trying to hear if somebody was coming in his direction and attempting to make sense of the shadows and see if one of them could be Brutus Greengrass' or Inspector's Granger's.

But no. The entire theatre was empty.

Harry shakily breathed.

There weren't many options where the man could be. Either he was on stage and bringing the vanishing cabinet in the storeroom or he was in his room. Harry hesitated a moment. Finally, he headed to the man's room.

His heart leapt when he saw light coming underneath the door leading to Mr. Evans' room/

Getting closer to said door, he heard a voice saying. "And why should I stop?"

"Oh, I don't know," a dry voice answered. "Perhaps because this little game of yours has lasted long enough?"

It was Mr. Evans.

"It wasn't funny then, and it's still not funny now, Brutus. Your little games, these curses you've put me under, the _things_ you've told me… It's _never_ been funny and I've got enough of it."

Harry cursed under his breath and tried to see what was happening in the other room. Looking through the keyhole, he saw standing the vanishing cabinet.

Somewhere in the other room, he heard Mr. Evans saying. "The others stopped a long time ago, so why can't you, Brutus? Why? What is so wrong with your life that you cannot help following me and need to ruin mine?"

A scoff. "Don't make yourself more important than you are."

Harry tried to see what he could do without ending up like the last time or making things worse. Yes, the two men didn't seem like they were about to fight but for how long?

Searching his pocket as the two men were discussing, he took the fob watch and opened it. Flicking the crystal with a shaky finger he looked at the countdown timer.

Apparently, things were going to go sour in less than ten minutes.

Holding his holly wand tight, he tried to see which spell he should use to effectively stop the Auror without endangering Mr. Evans at the same time. But no matter how hard he tried to find an effective plan he just couldn't. Going head on hadn't worked the last time and it was clear a frontal attack was out of question. _And yet_ , Harry just couldn't see what else he could do. Harry's got nothing and he was alone to solve this mess.

And where was Inspector Granger? The man had said he needed to make a detour before going to theatre but _surely_ the man should be there by now, no? How could the man not be here when he was so badly needed? Of all time they had wanted him to be away, why did it have to be _now_?

His view of the vanishing cabinet was suddenly blocked by the figure of a dark-haired man.

"That always was your problem, Patrick" the figure said. "Even when we were children, you've never been able to remember your place. I was doing you a service, really."

Mr. Evans' reply was subarctic. "A service, really."

"Well, you didn't honestly believe you were like us, did you? The little squib, trying to fool proper wizards into believing he could do magic too. And look at you now: still playing wizards and pretending you can do magic when you're doing nothing but a farce of it."

"A _farce_?" For the first time since Harry's known Mr. Evans, the man raised his voice.

"Magic is not some trick you do to amuse _muggles_!" Brutus Greengrass spat the last word as it was something disgusting. "It is not- Magic's not to be used for something as stupid as impressing a gullible crowd! Can't you see the shame you're bringing to it, Patrick?"

"Oh yes, it is!" he exclaimed. "Magic should be used for something like _that_! And let me tell you this: from where I'm standing _you're_ the one using parlor tricks!"

A hiss. "Don't you dare!"

"Oh, I dare! Waving a glowing stick to have your way, big deal! Cursing a child who cannot fight back, following him and attempting to ruin every good thing in his life… Who is the one _really_ bringing shame to magic, Brutus? Setting a sorry cabinet on fire just because he can, who is the pathetic one between the two of us?"

Harry was about to enter the room when he heard Brutus Greengrass taking a deep breath. "I'm sure you didn't send me a dove for us to talk about our childhood. So why am I here tonight, Patrick?"

"Oh you would have come anyway."

"And even an optimistic like you should have known what my answer was going to be. So what did you _really_ want to talk about?"

For a moment, Harry didn't hear anything. Finally a hiss. "Where did you get this?"

"Does it matter?" Mr. Evans flippantly replied. "I've got it. And if you do not want it to fall into the wrong hands -sorry, the _right_ ones- you should start listening to me and do as you're told. "

"And does anybody knows that you know about..."

"Who do you take me for? Of course it's not just me who knows about it. So if you get any idea, know that I've asked that person to release that public should anything happen to me."

A pause. Then a laugh. "You know, for a con man you're a pretty terrible liar, Patrick. Misdirection and half-truths, you're actually very good at them but outright _lies_? That's where you always fall short. You haven't told anybody about it, have you?"

"O-Of course I have."

But Harry could feel a little hesitation in the man's voice.

"No, you haven't," the wizard sing-sang. "And even if you knew somebody you could trust with that, I don't think you would have endangered them by giving them such knowledge. You've got nobody to watch your back, Patrick. Never have, never will."

"Check again."

The two men abruptly turned their head when Harry opened the door and entered the room, wand pointing at the dark-haired man.

Emerald eyes widened in alarm. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh?" The other wizard in the room darkly smiled. "And who might you be?"

"Doesn't matter," Mr. Evans sharply said.

"I think it does. Come on, Patrick, kid's here is trying to save the day. I think we should humour him a moment. What's your name, boy?"

Harry's jaw clenched. "I'm not a kid."

"Of course you're not. You're, what? Fourteen? Thirteen?"

"I'm sixteen."

Harry gritted his teeth when the man began laughing. "So you're not even of age. Hiding behind kids now, Patrick? What next, muggles? You remember you're not allowed to do magic outside school, don't you? Or have you forgotten this little fact?"

"I haven't."

Except he had. The second any of them casted a spell, Harry would be effectively kicked out of Hogwarts.

"I'm giving you a chance, boy. You leave this room quietly and nothing is going to happen to you. I'll even close my eyes on this clear breach of the statute of secrecy."

"No."

The word had left his mouth before Harry could even think about it. But remembering the watch in his pocket, he knew there could be no other answer. If Harry stayed, he would never be able to go back to Hogwarts and probably his time.

But if he were to leave and not do anything, Harry would let a man die.

The man seemed surprised a moment. "Do you even know who you're dealing with, boy?" Looking closely at him, he frowned. "Oh, I see. I suppose stupidity _does_ run in the family. Very well then." He raised his wand. "Have it your way."

Harry was about to cast the disarming charm when somebody stood between him and the Auror.

It was Mr. Evans. "You're not harming him," he warned.

The wizard rolled his eyes. "Touching, really. But what can you do really? Oh well, I suppose it'd be killing two birds with one stone." He raised his wand. "Very well then, if that's how you want it to end, Sectu-"

A hand grabbed the arm holding the wand.

Greengrass stilled and slowly turned his head behind him.

And under Mr. Evans' screams, Inspector Granger pinned Brutus Greengrass to the wall.

For a second, Harry could do nothing but numbly look at the man who had seemingly appeared from nowhere. After shaking his head, he pointed his wand in the direction of the two men who had started fighting. When it became clear he could curse the wrong person by accident, he pocketed his wand and entered the fight by throwing a left hook in the wizard's face.

There was a small explosion and the three men fell as a wand spun into the air before reaching the floor and rolling away. It only ended his course when it hit a pair of feet.

Mr. Evans numbly looked at the item at his feet for a moment. He then looked at the three other men, as if he couldn't quite believe what was happening in front of him.

When he finally looked at the wand's owner, he darkly smiled and crushed the wand under his foot.

* * *

Taking care of Brutus Greengrass was easy after that.

"Hello, do you remember me?" Inspector Granger asked as he finally handcuffed the seething wizard. "It's alright if you don't: I don't remember you either."

"How did you get in?" Mr. Evans shakily asked the policeman.

Eyes never leaving the wizard, the man pointed in the direction of the vanishing cabinet whose door was open.

"But I've _never_ left my eyes from the cabinet. I've been looking at it ever since the end of the show and there was no time when you could have got in. So how?"

The muggle opened his mouth as if to answer the magician's question. Suddenly he stopped, as if considering something.

Finally he answered: "Magic."

"How dare you."

While the two men were chatting, Harry's hand took Mr. Evans' fob watch. Opening it and flicking the crystal, he looked at the second hand moving backward. And if his heart leapt a moment he relaxed when he noticed the skull had been replaced by another drawing.

So it wasn't just death that watch was predicting.

"And why was Harry with you anyway?"

"Yes, that's what I want to know too."

Harry stilled and slowly turned his head. Seeing the two men have crossed their arms, he winced.

"I thought I told you to leave this matter to me," Inspector Granger gravelly said.

"Y-You did. It-It's just- Mrs. Evans was worried," he rushed.

Mr. Evans tilted his head. "Maggie was worried?"

Harry quickly nodded and handed the man his watch. Seeing the man's surprised face he explained, "She said you'd never leave it behind and that something had to be wrong. And when I opened it..."

The man didn't say anything. He just took the watch and numbly looked at it.

"And what were you trying to do there?" Inspector Granger gravelly asked. "Blackmailing a person such as this one? What were you thinking? You should have known it would bring you nothing but trouble and he would probably try to silence you. Did you have a death wish?"

Mr. Evans winced. "I didn't… I knew it was going to be dangerous but I thought that if I played it right..." He sighed. "That was stupid, I know. I've never been good at this sort of things but I just… I thought something had to be done if I..." He sighed again.

"Did you know what I saw when I opened your watch?" Harry gravelly said.

"I can guess. And no, I didn't know." He turned to Harry and gave him a humorless smile. "I made a point in not looking at it. I didn't bring it tonight because I thought that if I did I'd get cold feet. I've never considered Maggie would find it and worry."

Inspector Granger suspiciously looked at them. "It's a magic watch, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Figure. Speaking of magic tools..." He began searching his pockets. "I suppose you can have this back."

It was Harry's pen knife.

Harry was putting the object in his pocket when Mr. Evans asked the policeman what was so special about that pen knife.

"Opens any lock. I must say it was very useful to get in the theater and reach the backstage." A pause. "Come to think of it, that's also the perfect tool for a burglary. What-What a terrifying tool. And did I just-?"

"What about Greengrass?" Harry asked before the muggle could change his mind and ask for his pen knife back. "What's going to happen to him?"

The man paused. "Well, I'd like to say he's going to follow me to Scotland Yard but it's my day off so it may be a little complicated."

"And it's highly possible that some wizards will get him out before any of us can say Quidditch," Mr. Evans finished.

"So what?" Harry incredulously asked, "We let him go free?"

There was a loud noise behind them, not unlike a muggle car backfiring. When Harry turned around, wand ablaze, he was confronted by a man in long purple robe.

The wizard at the other side of the wand didn't look impressed. "You should drop your wand, young man."

He didn't. "Who are you?"

"He's an obliviator," Mr. Evans answered. "I wasn't sure, but it looks like the wand backfiring was enough to trigger the trace. As such incident can cause quite a lot of damages, he is evaluating whether or not he need to repair any damages caused and if he has to call a mediwizard. It's alright," he told the man. "The backfire wasn't strong enough."

The wizard in purple robe ignored him. "I suppose the boy here is the underage wizard," he concluded in a bored voice.

" _Boy_?"

He ignored him. "Your name is Harry Potter, is that correct?"

"Y-Yeah."

"Yes, sir." Ignoring Harry rolling his eyes, he retrieved a piece of parchment and glanced at it. "And on the 20th of July of this year you received at 11 pm an owl from the Improper Use of Magic Office informing you they had records of you using magic in a muggle area, is that correct?"

"It wasn't me."

"Did you attempt to appeal the decision within the time you could do so?"

"Well no but-"

"Then that's not my problem. Very well then." Taking what seemed to be a notebook and a quill, he began writing and in a bored voice said, "As this is your second offense, I have to inform you that you are officially asked to come to the Improper Use of Magic Office to pay five galleons for breaking the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and that you are effectively expelled from any magical school you may have been attending before and cannot apply in another one."

"But-"

The man raised his voice. "When you come to the Improper Use of Magic Office, it will be decided whether or not you may keep your wand. In the meantime-"

"I didn't use magic!" he exclaimed.

"Can you prove that it was not you?" he challenged.

Harry snorted and pointed at the man sulking on the ground. "Well, yes."

The obliviator apathetically glanced in the direction Harry was pointing at.

That all changed when he saw the wizard on the floor.

Dropping his notebook he exclaimed, "But that's Auror Greengrass! What on earth happened there?"

He sharply moved his wand and the handcuffs vanished.

Inspector Granger jumped on the now free wizard as Mr. Evans hurriedly started searching a drawer on the table against the wall before throwing him a pair of handcuffs.

"Stop!" the obliviator shouted. "Wh-What are you doing? St-Stop!"

He raised his wand as if to curse them.

And stilled when he saw Harry pointing his wand at him. "Don't think about it."

The obliviator looked at Harry with something akin to horror. "What are you going to do to me?" he murmured.

"Oh nothing," Mr. Evans smoothly replied. "We're not going to do anything. Lower your wand, Harry." In a voice he normally used when he was on stage he told the man, "But you must have realized by now that this is a slightly more complicated matter than what you're usually dealing with. I'm not even sure you're competent when I think about it."

The man stilled. "I'm not?" he asked with a strange tone in his voice.

"An Auror got beaten down by a muggle, a squib and a kid-"

"Eh!" Harry protested.

"I do believe such dangerous people cannot be handled by the regular Ministry employees."

With something akin to wonder, he breathed, "You're right."

"We have a few things to say but I doubt you're the person we should talk to." A pause. "I know this is highly irregular, but if you could please ask for Auror Longbottom-"

"Of course! I-I go back to the Ministry and-and I'll send him here-"

A smile. "That's very nice of you. If you would be kind enough to also tell him to bring Veritaserum I'll be very much-"

With a loud crack the obliviator disappeared.

Mr. Evans softly shook his head. "Lowly paid employees are so predictable."

"He's going to bring back an Auror," Harry remarked.

"We were going to have an Auror after us the second you two attacked Brutus. At least I get to pick the least worst. Now, I don't want you to say _anything_. You get it? I don't even want to hear you breathing."

Seeing the man was dead serious, Harry nodded. "What's going to happen now?"

After making sure Auror Greengrass wasn't listening to them he said, "I try to get us out of this mess. I'm not going to lie: it's going to be _very_ difficult and if I fail the two of us ends up in Azkaban so you better do as you're told this time."

"Azkaban?"

"It's a prison," he told Inspector Granger. "The two of you _did_ attack an Auror and such act always has consequences. As you're a muggle, the worst thing that can happen to you is to get your memories erased but Harry and I may be sent to the Dementors if they want to punish us so don't be too surprised if I put most of the blame on you."

"These Dementors being?"

"Soul sucking monsters," Harry explained.

"Literally."

* * *

The young man who apparated in the theatre had the face of someone who knew he was about to face some unbelievable mess and was utterly done before it even started.

"Alright then," Auror Longbottom slowly said after taking a look at the people in the room, "what do you want?"

"This is no hostage situation," Mr. Evans told the Auror. "I know the three of us may look a little suspicious-"

The wizard snorted.

"But I assure you there is a perfectly logical explanation. We just… We just want to have a chance to explain ourselves before anybody jumps to conclusions and we are sent to the Ministry or Azkaban before awaiting judgement. Have you got Veritaserum on you? I know I asked the obliviator to tell you to bring some but-"

"I've brought Veritaserum. However, there's a few things I want to check beforehand."

"Of course."

He knelt in front of Greengrass and seemed to evaluate the state of him. A wave of his wand, and the nose Harry had broken with a well-thrown punch started healing.

"Which one between you and the muggle did this?"

"Oh well, it was-"

"It's that kid who did this," Greengrass spat. "I came here to deal with a the threat that squib poses to the statute of secrecy and that criminal started threatening me."

"You were going to kill Mr. Evans!" Harry screamed.

Auror Longbottom shushed him.

"And that… that filthy _muggle_ here attacked me from behind!"

"One: I am anything but dirty. I clean in fact anything thrice before considering using it. Two: it was in alter ego defense and I am a member of the police force and as such am allowed to employ force to incapacitate a person I deem is a threat to another."

Auror Longbottom painfully closed his eyes. "We're going to be here for a long time, aren't we?"

Inspector Granger winced in sympathy.

* * *

The sun was beginning to rise when the five men finally left the theatre.

Auror Longbottom had been the first to leave with Greengrass. He had then come back and left with Inspector Granger who was heading home before being obliviated.

Harry supposed that part had been unavoidable. Of course the Auror wasn't going to let the inspector remember the existence of magic. At least the man had agreed to it this time and had even said something about understanding why the wizard was doing it. And if he understood something, he apparently had no choice but to accept it.

He yawned on the way home. "I can't believe it took the whole night."

"Me neither. Auror Longbottom must have wanted to settle this matter as soon as possible. Then again, usage of Veritaserum makes even the most complicated cases very straightforward."

Remembering the Auror had used the truth serum on Mr. Evans he couldn't help asking: "Why did it have to be you? Couldn't he use it on Greengrass?"

"No, he couldn't. In a wizarding court of law, truth serums can only be given to those who have made the demand. It's a very dangerous potion after all, and we've got in the wizarding world something called right against self-incrimination. As very few are mad enough to do it, the potion is almost never used. And when it is..." He slyly smiled. "Well… That person must be innocent and must have done no wrong in his entire life."

Harry snorted.

What the man had told the Auror had been the truth, and at the same time it hadn't been. Yes, it had been a normal day like any other as far as Mr. Evans was concerned. He had gone to the theatre for a magic show and there hadn't been any hitch during the representation. After the show had ended, he had waited for Auror Greengrass who was supposed to come because he had sent him an owl to come about private matters. These matter being related over the wizard bullying him and Mr. Evans wanting him to stop. And when the conversation had turned sour, Harry who had come to bring his watch back had tried to defend him. As for the muggle, he had no idea why he had been in the cabinet but the man had been strangely fascinated by what was nothing but a muggle cabinet with a trap.

But Mr. Evans attempting to blackmail Auror Greengrass, Inspector Granger knowing about the existence of magic because Harry had broken the statute of secrecy… All this had been quietly swept away.

Professor Mesmer had explained to him how dangerous a person able to wield the truth like one would a wand could be, but it was the first time he had effectively seen this lesson puts into practice.

And as it seemed only another testimony made under veritaserum could challenge the previous one and as Greengrass couldn't not confess he had tried to kill them if he were to ask to have the truth serum used on him, Harry had no reason to worry about the Ministry of magic finding out what he's done any time soon.

"So he's going to Azkaban, right?"

"Perhaps." Seeing Harry incredulously looking at him, Mr. Evans shrugged. "The thing with purebloods is that they watch each other's backs. As Brutus has connections in certain circles such as the Order of Asteria, he's valuable enough someone might think about pulling a few strings for him. Don't worry though: I've got connections too." He smiled. "Also I've found quite a few things that'd make it clear they're better off without him. I wanted to use it to force his hand last night but maybe it'll be better if I use it this way." Opening his watch and looking at the time he shook his head in amusement. "To think the _one_ time I don't bring it with me I get in that sort of trouble."

Seeing the magical artifact, Harry couldn't help remembering the countdown timer he had seen just a few hours ago. "I thought it was impossible to predict the future that accurately."

"And it is, to my knowledge. My watch _can_ foresee a few things to a point, but it mostly deals with possibilities and usually picks the most probable one. Most of the time it is terrifyingly accurate but I've been wondering lately if that wasn't because I was following its predictions too religiously and was turning them into some sort of self-fulfilling prophecies." He self-deprecatingly chuckled. "That's a reason why I left my watch home. To think Maggie saw right through me and that you actually opened it."

Remembering Auror Longbottom had failed to open the fob watch when it had been presented to him he frowned. "Why couldn't Auror Longbottom open it?"

"Because my father charmed it so that only he or a blood relative could."

Harry abruptly stopped walking.

It took him a moment to remember how to speak. "What?"

The squib gave Harry a wistful smile. "He did it to reassure me, a long time ago. But it's not unusual for a artifacts such as this watch to have that sort of charms: you don't want them to leave the family or thieves to get any idea. Frankly, he should have known on the go he wouldn't manage."

"No, no..." He dazedly shook his head. "I-I mean..."

If Mr. Evans was saying only a relative could open it, and if Harry had somehow managed to open the fob watch, then wouldn't that mean that the two of them…

Mr. Evans stilled. "Hold on a moment. Does that mean..."

"So what? That mean that we're-"

"You don't _actually_ know we're related?"

Harry felt like the Hogwarts Express had just hit him.

"Wh-Wh-What?"

"Seriously? Even my wife figured that one out and you can't say she's the sharpest tool in the shed."

Harry spluttered. "What do you mean she knows?" he croaked.

"Well, she doesn't know you're not from this time naturally-"

Harry strangled himself with his own saliva.

"-but she's realized quite early you and I were related. She doesn't think you're my son, thankfully. That would have been very awkward for me if she had."

Harry felt like his soul was slowly leaving his body.

It took a moment to remember how to use words. "And you said nothing? Why-Why didn't you say anything?"

"I assumed it was some big secret and I wasn't supposed to know."

Harry screamed.

"Was I wrong?"

"Yes. I mean, no, but-" He ran a hand through his hair.

"Even Inspector Granger and Brutus realized there was some family resemblance between us. And I wouldn't be surprised to learn Mesmer knows too. Like… _Everybody_ knows, Harry. You're _literally_ the last person to have figured it out."

It took all his hard earned lesson in occlumency for Harry not to bite his fist and scream again. "You said I was not from this time," he finally croaked.

"Well, you can open my father's watch, you've got my mother's eyes and they both died roughly twenty years ago, you supposedly didn't travel through space… I've got a lot of imagination but even I must admit defeat and concede that _maybe_ you're from the future."

Harry numbly looked at the man. "How long have you known?"

"That you're some offspring of mine? A few hours. That we were family? The very beginning." Seeing Harry bewildered face, the expression on his face softened. "Why do you think I was at Kings' Cross that day?"

Harry tried to remember that day. It hadn't even been two months and yet it seemed to have happened a long time ago. "You said you needed to grab something."

But the man hadn't been carrying anything and King's Cross was in the opposite direction of the road the magician usually took to go to work.

And Harry finally realized he hadn't come to grab something but _someone_.

"How did you know?" he breathed. "How did you know I needed you then?"

"Honestly? I haven't got the faintest idea. I just knew. And I don't particularly want to know how I knew. It'd ruin the magic, don't you think?"

And Harry wetly smiled. "Y-Yeah."

The man smiled back. "We should hurry up. If what you said is true, Maggie must be worried sick and she's' probably going to be very cross with us so we shouldn't make it harder for us."

And as the two men headed home, Harry finally realized why he hadn't been able to help observing that strange man in the middle of a crowd of even stranger men who were dazzling all the students present at Professor Mesmer's Halloween party.

His hair had been white, and there had been more lines on his face, but the man who had introduced himself had been the same man who had among dozen other people waved at him at the other side of the mirror of Erised.


	33. The Divination Professors Part1

Nobody wanted to know the future.

It was a truth Caecilius had learned very early. They might not realize it themselves, but even the people who went to see a seer -especially the people who came to see the seer- didn't truly want to learn from a child Caecilius' age what their tomorrow was going to be like.

So why were they coming to him? That part was not making no sense to him. If it was not the future they wanted, what were these people truly seeking?

"If we do not count those trying to prove we are frauds, there are three kinds of people you will meet in your life," Mr. Lovegood – the seer helping him with mastering his Sight – said when Caecilius asked him. "And the answer to your question will depend of which group you're talking about."

"And what are are these groups?"

He smiled. "I'm afraid this is something you need to find yourself. So keep looking, Caecilius."

So Caecilius looked. The whole summer he was spending at the circus to pay his tuitions for Hogwarts, he looked at each person who wanted to have their future foretold by 'the Great Caecilius'. By the end of August, he thought he's mostly figured it out.

The first kind of people came to his circus tent for the same reason they went to see the circus' animals. He was just like that unicorn the ringmaster's trained to do several tricks. Perhaps his place was even lower than the unicorn's and even the acrobats' for he only was a one-trick pony. They wanted to escape their boringly ordinary life and wanted to be shocked, to believe for one instant some higher being was looking at them.

So Caecilius learned to smile and say they were very interesting when they were the most boring people he's ever met.

The second kind of people was mostly made of politicians, wealthy men and beautiful women. People who liked to show off they had succeeded in life and wanted now to insure sure their position would remain the same no matter what. And Caecilius hadn't helped feeling disgusted when he had realized that what these people were expecting was for him to tell them how perfect they were. Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?

Not you, he couldn't help thinking every time he had to smile and give them the empty flatteries they were seeking. He hated liars, but if lies were what the client wanted, then Caecilius supposed he had no choice but to give them just that.

Now, the third kind of people, Caecilius had to admit he still had no idea what it could be made of and he doubted he'd find out before going back to Hogwarts. Still, two out of three was good enough, no?

Hearing somebody entering the tent he was in, Caecilius straightened on his chair and put his hands on the table in front of him.

"Welcome stranger," he said to the new client in a voice he's been told sounded mysterious and very seer-like. "I have been waiting for you and-"

A flash. In one potential future, the client was numbly looking at him; in a second future, he was rolling his eyes; in the third future, he was childishly crossing his arms.

He blinked to chase the visions he's just had. "-and I'm glad to see you've managed to go past your reluctance to come. Though I do believe the decision to have your future foretold was not entirely yours. Who was it that brought you here almost against your will, if I may ask you?"

The client, a blonde boy Caecilius' age, numbly looked at him, probably wondering how he could know so much.

The answer was, naturally, that he was a seer of great powers.

The client finally sighed. "My father. I keep telling me that's not necessary but he insisted."

He knowingly nodded. "And you're humouring him. Still, now that you're here, aren't you just a little curious? Don't you want to know what your life is going to be like?"

The client heavily sighed and went to sit on the chair in front of him. Now that he was closer, Caecilius could see the black robe he was wearing was made from high quality fabric. Still, even well-fitted clothes couldn't hide how thin he was and the black robe he was wearing was only accentuating his pale skin and the dark circles under his eyes.

He looked like he was going to faint right in front of him and Caecilius for moment wondered if he shouldn't call Mr. Lovegood for help.

There didn't seem to be any immediate future where the young man would do just that however so Caecilius supposed he was safe for now.

He took Mr. Lovegood's tarot cards and asked the other boy to pick five of them.

When it was finally time for Caecilius to reveal the cards, the first one he got was Death.

"It doesn't mean what you probably think it means," Caecilius hurriedly told the silent boy. "It's a symbol of endings but also one of beginnings. It doesn't- It doesn't have to mean _death_ , you know?"

"Keep going."

The second and third cards he revealed were the Hangman and the Wheel of fortune. Martyrdom and inevitable fate.

Sometimes, Caecilius wanted to ask the Higher Being what he had done in a previous life to deserve this.

The boy impassively looked at the cards which seemed intent on telling him he was just doomed. He didn't say anything. He didn't move. It was as if the boy wasn't truly there, as if he has already left and had yet to realize he has accidentally left his body behind.

When Caecilius started revealing the fourth card, he had a flash.

In the first potential future he was seeing, the boy was bitterly smiling; in the second one he was crying.

When the boy saw the penultimate card was the Magician, he finally snorted.

"It's a good card," Caecilius told him.

"Is it really?" he asked with a bitter smile, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

"It is. It-It represents creation, desire, willpower."

But the other boy wasn't listening to his explanation and was looking at the card innocently lying between them with something akin to resentment.

It was clear the Magician meant something completely different to him, but what? What has the Magician done to this person to be so disliked? Considering his clothing, it was clear he wasn't a muggle so why? Why would a wizard dislike the very card that represented him?

Caecilius thought about it a moment. He supposed there could be other reasons he didn't know about, but in this instant, he could only think of one. A boy his age in poor health being dragged by his own father to get his future told by a seer...

"You're a squib, aren't you?"

The other boy flinched. "I don't- I don't like that word," he weakly said.

"My apologies."

But it was clear now that he was indeed a squib. And Caecilius felt he didn't even need to reveal what the last card was, for he now knew why these cards were here.

He curled his lips in disgust.

He knew how heartbroken some parents became when they realized their children were not like them. And he was aware there were many charlatans who were more than ready to exploit their grief for an easy sickle. Pretending to be a misunderstood Healer, they would swear they could cure their child from some imaginary illness. They just had to buy the potions they were selling and everything was going to be alright. And what if that potion did more harm than good? It wasn't as if they cared for anything but the money and by the time the scam was revealed, the fraud was long gone, the parents bankrupt and the child very often in terrible health when he wasn't outright _dead_.

"My-My grandmother was a seer," the squib slowly began explaining. "A particular sort of seer from what I understand, but a seer nonetheless. And-And when my mother was expecting, she told my parents I was going to be great at magic. That I-That I'd understand it better than anybody before me. So that's why my father thinks that if I..." He grimaced and looked away.

Caecilius took the Magician card between his fingers. "And that's why you're here, isn't it? You want me to tell you how to become a great wizard and help you fulfill the prediction your grandmother made."

A wince. "W-When you put it like that, it does sound silly. But it's not like that, we just- My-My father just wants me to be healthy."

"Do you really believe you are healthier now than you were before they started 'curing' you?"

Ignoring his client flinching and dropping his head, he looked at the card, wondering not for the first time how something so small could be the source of so much darkness.

Because it was clear to him now that that was the reason the other cards were screaming to him that the other boy was dying.

"Come on," he heard the boy muttering. "Cut the chase and just do what you're being paid for."

He blinked and looked at the young man in front of him. Tilting his head, he repeated, "What I'm being paid for?"

"You know what I'm talking about."

Except he did not. Caecilius was supposed to tell the future, though he was starting to think the future was the last thing people wanted him to say, and the boy and his father were somehow expecting him to magically find a remedy to turn non-wizards into wizards.

He was fourteen. He was fourteen and had yet to take his Ordinary Wizarding Levels. A seer of great powers he might be, he was no miracle worker.

He glanced at the boy who was still looking at his closed fists, jaw tense and repeatedly hitting the floor with his right foot.

"I know already what you're going to say so just get on with it and stop wasting my time."

It was only at this moment Caecilius realized that, in the boy's eyes, he wasn't unlike the many charlatans his father was forcing him to see. He was only a fake among the dozens he had most probably met and who were responsible for his weak health. He was a charlatan, and Caecilius was expected to keep the charade going and say everything was going to be fine if the other boy would just listen to him because he was supposed to be that desperate for a sickle.

His right eyebrow twitched in annoyance.

He was not a charlatan!

He was a seer. And maybe the people outside thought he was a fake, he knew the truth. He knew he was the real deal and he refused to be put in the same bin as these swindlers. He was a seer, the Higher Being has given him a mission and it didn't matter these profanes didn't want him to, he was going to fulfill it.

"You will never do magic."

The young man in front of him sharply raised his head.

"You're a squib," he stated. And maybe that was cruel of him to say it so bluntly, the other boy needed to understand. "The same way I cannot get rid of the powers the Higher Being has given me, you cannot change what you are. It's against nature, it's not possible. You're not one of these muggle sticks we were supposed to turn into a needle at Hogwarts, you're a boy. And I don't care what your so-called seer of grandmother said, you will never have a wand and you will never go to Hogwarts. You're dying. You, your father and all these fakes you've met are killing you in trying to make you something you're not meant to be. It will be a miracle if you were to survive this year, really."

It was clear the boy was stunned. He was owlishly blinking, as if he couldn't believe the boy in front of him has had the gall to mention the elephant in the room and just say how it truly was.

He couldn't help grimacing at the vision he got. In one potential future, the boy was sadly nodding; in another, he was leaving without a word; in the last one, he was bursting to tears.

Please, don't burst to tears, he mentally begged.

The other boy did not burst to tears.

Instead, he got up and violently flipped the table.

* * *

"Where are you going, Patrick?"

Mr. Evans was putting his long magician cloak on when he answered, "Out."

"I would have never guessed," Mrs. Evans dryly replied. "And where exactly is 'out' and why are your wearing the clothes you usually wear when you're at the theatre?"

The man didn't answer but realization slowly drew on her face. "Don't tell me you're going to see these perverts again."

That made him turn his head. "Perverts?"

"Have you seen how 'your friends' were looking at me when I first met them?"

He numbly looked at his wife shuddering and finally burst to laugh. "Excellent. That one was excellent, Maggie."

"It's the truth!" she snapped. "They're perverts and they're creepy!"

He grinned. "Even if I didn't want to go there, I'm afraid I must. There are a few loose ends I need to tie up and if I want to make sure Brutus isn't not come back screaming revenge at me, I will need their help."

Harry, who had been pretending not to listen to their conversation, sharply raised his head. "Brutus. You mean Greengrass, don't you?"

"I do. I told you the other day it was just possible somebody might consider getting Brutus out of his predicament," he started explaining. "If I've got enough dirt on him to make these people reconsider, I'm afraid a little squib like me does not have the influence to insure that information reaches them. Fortunately for us, I know several people who most certainly do. That's partly why I'm going to meet them and ask for a little help."

"Can I come?"

"Well..."

"He's coming with you," Mrs. Evans sharply said, tone breaking no argument.

"I was actually going to say he was welcome to follow me and that I actually expected no less." Seeing her glaring, he sighed. "I'm not going to do something stupid, Maggie, I swear."

But Mrs. Evans kept glaring.

If nothing had actually happened to Mr. Evans, it had been clear to those under this roof that the man was officially in the doghouse for the stunt he's done. And Harry, being in Mrs Evans' eyes the sole reason she wasn't a widow, has been elected to be his handler whenever she couldn't spy on him and insure he wasn't going to do something stupid like blackmailing another wizard who wanted him dead.

On the plus side, that meant Harry got more food for breakfast.

"I want a full report when you come back," she declared when they were about to leave. Pointing a finger at Harry, she added, "Do not fail me."

Mr. Evans heavily sighed and closed the door.

"Alright, name your price. What do I need to bribe you with so she doesn't learn what I'm going to do?"

"Who are we meeting?"

"A few friends of mine." Leaving the Evans' home, he started talking, "I usually help them on certain matters and they're also good clients so I'm not only going to see him only for this. Still, I do need to make sure Brutus doesn't escape justice. We sometimes do a few things she definitely doesn't approve so it would be better if she were to never learn about that part.

"Is it illegal?" Harry asked.

Mr. Evans hesitated. "Not really?"

Considering the man was a squib earning his life by recreating well-known magic artefacts the muggle way and giving the middle finger to the statute of secrecy in front of hundreds of muggles, that meant yes.

"It's not illegal for me per sure. It's more- it's illegal _for them_."

So they were criminals. Mr. Evans had connection in the wizarding underground world and they were going to meet the mafia and ask them to get rid of Greengrass.

Harry put his hands in his pockets and grabbed with his right hand his wand and with his left hand his pen knife. "What are they like?" he asked in a voice he wanted to sound cheerful.

Turning left, Mr. Evans considered his question a moment. "Have you ever heard of the parable of the blind wizards and the chimarea?" he finally asked him.

He drew back. "The blind wizards and the chimaera?" he repeated, wondering what had brought this on.

"That's a no then. A long time ago, three blind wizards heard that a chimaera had been brought to the village they lived in. Having never encountered such creature before and being all curious people, they all decided to go to the chimera and try to find out what a chimera was like by touch. After much inspection, the first one who had touched the chimera's body declared it was nothing but a goat; the second one however argued it after caressing its mane that it was a prideful lion. As for the last one who touched the tail, he argued this strange creature was a small dragon."

Harry frowned. "I think I've heard about this story. But it wasn't a chimera."

"It's possible. There are many variations where it was either a hippogriff or a griffin. Ultimately, the issue is resolved by the magical beast killing and sometimes even eating the fighting wizards. The morale of the story is that one probably shouldn't go petting dangerous creatures if they want to have a long life."

"Shouldn't it be something about perception?" Because if he remembered correctly, the story had been about how each blind man could only get a part of the picture and it was only if they had all listened to each other they could have known what the creature they were touching was really like.

"Also that." He winked. "Mind you, I've never really been convinced that was the most important part. Still, the people we're going to see have taken this story to heart so it's probably better you keep this in mind. Ah, here we are."

Harry turned his head and looked at the townhouse in front of him, not dissimilar to Grimmauld Place and the other buildings on the street. Gripping his wand even tighter, he prepared himself to defend them should the need arise.

Once they reached the threshold, Mr. Evans put his hands behind his back. Just as Harry was about to ask if they shouldn't knock to announce their presence, the door opened, revealing a woman in gypsy clothes.

Seeing Mr. Evans, her face brightened. "Time Keeper!" she said with a light French accent. "Blessed the Higher Being, you're not dead!"

Harry face-palmed.

"I confirm, I'm still alive," Mr. Evans pleasantly replied. "Why, have your cards told you I shouldn't be?"

"Oh no, no! Well, my cards told me somebody is not going to come today. As a previous reading had informed me you were to encounter a few difficulties at work I confess I jumped to conclusions just a little."

"Oh really," he deadpanned.

"I'm glad to see I misunderstood what they were telling me." Spotting Harry she paused an instant. After drawing back and blinking several times, she smiled at him. "And you must be the newcomer I saw in my crystal ball yesterday."

Harry nodded to himself. "And you're a seer."

"Irma Soleil," she introduced herself, "I teach Divination at Beauxbatons. Now where are my manners? Come in, come in. And what is your name? I have to admit that my crystal ball did not tell me."

"Harry's a distant relative of mine and a student of Mesmer's," Mr. Evans swiftly answered as they entered the deceptively ordinary townhouse.

"Ah yes, I remember! You were the one conversing with Trelawney when Mesmer invited us to Hogwarts for his All Hallows Eve party, weren't you?"

Harry blinked. "Does that mean you're a member of that guild of his, Professor?"

She burst to laugh. "Please, you are not my student. Just call me Madame Soleil. And you didn't tell him, Evans?"

Mr. Evans shrugged. "It must have slipped my mind." Seeing Harry frowning he explained, "Harry, this is the Divination guild's headquarters."

Harry had no idea why he was even surprised at this point.

* * *

If the outside of the Divination guild's headquarters was deceptively ordinary, the inside was anything but. In the hallway, several artifacts from different eras were coexisting despite all odds, some stranger than others like that painting which was nothing but colourful geometrical figures slowly turning onto themselves, that drawing of a rocket which had been hung or even the replica of a garden gnome standing on a table.

Pointing at the garden gnome, Harry asked their guide, "Where did you get these?"

"Oh, we made them," Madame Soleil answered. "It's sometimes easier to draw, paint or outright recreate what we Saw to get a better understanding of what it could mean. And sometimes we like what we Saw so much we put it there. This for example is an an idol muggles will one day worship."

"R-Right."

"Still, I cannot help wondering sometimes," turning her head to Mr. Evans she elaborated, "how many of these artists who say they got the idea of their creation in a dream realize they have the Sight?"

"I suppose they must be quite a few," Mr. Evans agreeably admitted. "Still, if the artist or the musician who has a vision merely recreates what he Saw or Heard, then where does the very thing he Saw truly come from? Who really composed Beethoven's fifth?"

The woman's easy smile stilled. "W-Well…" she spluttered. "T-The Higher Being…"

Mr. Evans smirked the rest of the visit.

* * *

When they finally reached the drawing room on the first floor, Harry couldn't help pausing at the sight of the people in the room. If their clothes were less extravagant than those the guild had worn the last time he had seen them, they were no mistaking they neither fitted the muggle world nor wizarding world of this time, as if the people wearing them didn't belong in either.

"Do you really believe they can help you with Greengrass?" Harry whispered Mr. Evans. "I mean, how could they?"

Mr. Evans hummed. "There are three types of people who go to see a seer," he began saying. "The first type wants to get the 'seer experience'; they want to believe some mystical power is at work if only for a moment. It's not unlike what is happening when I'm on stage, really. The second type now has quite a lot of influence and is willing to use whatever means to keep it." Seeing Harry frowning he explained further, "You have no idea how many politicians actually believe some higher being actually cares about them. Like, the people here will never tell me who is seeing whom, but I know for a fact several members of the Wizengamot, the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the minister of magic himself regularly want to have their future foretold."

Harry incredulously looked at him. "Seriously?"

He nodded. "They do not look like it, but they have a lot of influence. They may rarely use it but a word whispered in the right ear or a dramatic vision at the proper moment can change a person's choices and in some cases entire policies. Trelawney for example stopped a war in the continent just because she told the emperor of Austria Hungary she's foreseen doom befalling on his empire if he were to declare war against a neighboring country."

Harry numbly looked at a man in a colourful Victorian dress adjusting his wig. "And these politicians will listen to them just because somebody from the divination guild said they got a vision?" he whispered.

"Well, not really," he amended. "The guild is but one player here. There's the Order of Astoria for example which also has a lot of influence and our politicians are ultimately free to do whatever they want. But at the very least, they're willing to listen to what they're saying behind the scenes."

Harry closed his eyes and shook his head, disturbed by what he's just learned. "How do you even know them? I mean… you're not a seer."

The man's emerald eyes shined in amusement. "Well… That's a rather funny story. It wasn't then but looking back, flipping that table was rather dramatic. It was so dramatic I decided I liked it and should probably do it again. So I did, several times. One day, I realized I liked it so much I should probably make a job out of it. And in case you haven't noticed, there is nobody more dramatic than a seer so I asked one to give me a few tips."

Harry incredulously chuckled.

The man checked his watch. "These days I come to test my sleight of hand on them, I give a few magic shows and sometimes I help them with a few mundane things. Also we play poker. Maggie hates gambling but I confess I enjoy betting a few sickes from time to time so don't tell her tonight is poker night, please."

Remembering something the man had once told him, he frowned, "Aren't seers forbidden to gamble?"

He winked. "As I said, what we're doing here is not completely legal."

* * *

The next person who entered the Divination guild's drawing room was a little girl.

She couldn't be older than six. With her long blonde hair and light blue dress, she looked like many children Harry would sometimes see playing in the street of the muggle side of London whenever he was going to work.

And yet it was this very appearance of normality that was setting her apart. In this strange place where everybody looked like they were making a point in looking as dramatic as possible, it was this utter lack of artifice that was making her the oddest person in the room.

The girl suddenly closed her ears and screamed while the windows and every teacup in the room shattered.

Harry startled as everybody rushed to her side.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," the little girl murmured as the seers brought her to a sofa and started fretting on her. "It just- It just got really loud for a moment."

"Oh, sweetheart..."

"I'm so sorry you've got to go through that..."

"Are you really sure you're alright? It seemed a little extreme."

"Do you want some hot cocoa?"

There was noise, as if somebody was hurriedly walking up the stairs. Finally a man in blue muggles clothes and wearing glasses, one lense red and the other blue, entered the drawing room.

Despite these strange glasses hiding his eyes, there was no doubt that the man was Harry's divination professor.

"I heard somebody screaming," Professor Mesmer agitatedly said. "What happened?"

"That was me," the little girl whispered as the man was pushing the other seers to get to her. "I-I'm sorry. I-I-"

But Professor Mesmer looked around, as if trying to assess the situation himself. When he finally spotted Harry and Mr. Evans, he left out a loud sigh. "Well, I suppose this answer that. She's fine," he assured the others. "I've seen it happen. It's quite frightening when it happens but there are no side-effect. Give her a few minutes and she will be back to her cheerful self."

He glanced in Harry's direction and the time-traveller understood.

Like the first time he had met Professor Mesmer and Cassandra Trelawney, Harry was responsible for what has just happened.

"Is she a seer?" he asked Mr. Evans in a whisper.

"Everybody here but us is," he whispered back.

If that was the case, Harry thought as he looked at Madame Soleil leaving the girl's side to bring her hot chocolate, then why had these three people reacted so strongly when the other seers haven't?

Professor Mesmer sat next to the girl, murmuring to her what Harry assumed to be reassurances. The girl nodded before raising her head to look at him and ask him something.

There was something very easy about how the two of them were behaving around each other, as if the two of them weren't just mere acquaintances.

"Are the two of them related?"

Mr. Evans hummed. "Her father taught him how to use his Sight when he was young. In these circles, they're as good as family."

It was only when Madame Soleil came back with a mug of hot cocoa that he left her side after a comforting pat on her hand.

"Is she really going to be alright?" Mr. Evans asked in concern once the man finally reached them.

The seer nodded. "Her powers are just manifesting but they're strong. As she's never experienced this before, she easily panics and sometimes has bursts of accidental magic as a result," he explained. "It can get dangerous if she's unsupervised but I confess I'm not particularly worried." His lips twitched. "Puberty however… I admit I'm not looking forward to that."

Mr. Evans nodded. "And are any of you going to fix these windows and teacups she's broken?"

Professor Mesmer blinked and looked in the direction of the windows. "They're broken?" he asked.

"They are. The teacups as well."

He sighed and pinched his nose as he took his wand with his free hand. With a large wave of his wand, he repaired all the damages the girl has caused.

"But enough about us, what about you? How did you figure out you needed to pick Mr. Potter at Kings' Cross? That part on how you figured the two of you were related wasn't very clear, I confess."

Harry painfully closed his eyes. "You knew."

"Of course I knew," he answered. "I'm a seer of great powers. Which reminds me..." He started searching in his pocket. "I've got to give you this back."

The other man seemed surprised. "What? Oh. Yes," he murmured once Professor Mesmer showed him a folded piece of paper. "Yes, I suppose this makes sense."

"Do you want some help with that?"

"No, no," he murmured as he opened the folded paper which was the size of a letter and appeared to be utterly black. "I think I've got it."

Harry frowned as Mr. Evans went to a table nearby, took the pen on it and started writing. And it took him a moment to realize what exactly the two men were doing.

"I thought you couldn't read something that had yet to be written." His first lesson had in fact been exactly on that.

"I'm a seer, so the rules are a little more flexible for me. Also, in case you've forgotten, I did, in fact, foresee what was about to be on the blackboard. The most important part to do this right is intent and Evans and I have decided a long time ago on we would do this little magic trick. Also, do you honestly believe I'm as short-sighted as you are and hadn't considered you had nowhere to go outside Hogwarts and something probably should be done?"

Harry stiffened.

"Luckily for you, somebody was already watching over you and I didn't have to do anything." He nodded in satisfaction. "Love when that happens."

Harry suddenly remembered the dove that had come during one of Professor Mesmer's lessons near the end of the school year. A white dove had brought the man an utterly empty letter, as if the person had forgotten to write anything or had yet to. And Mesmer at the sight of that empty missive had smiled, as if he's been handed the solution to a problem Harry hadn't known.

"Still, it must be said that you've got quite a lucky star, Mr. Potter."

Harry honestly didn't have one. After everything that had happened to him, he had stopped believing good things could happen to him for no reason. There had to be a catch, even if Harry couldn't find it. There had to be more than luck behind this strange turn of events.

Mr. Evans finally stopped writing and went back to them, his finished letter in hand. "There, done. Still, I know you like keeping some surprises but you could have had least warned me about that mess with Brutus."

The seer frowned and took the letter back. "I don't see anything about this 'Brutus' here. It's just you informing me that you've grabbed Mr. Potter and that the two of you are related."

Mr. Evans painfully closed his eyes.

After a flick of the wizard's wand, the letter self-combusted. "Why, what happened?"

"It's been a _very_ long summer."

And Mr. Evans started explaining everything that had happened to them ever since Harry had come to London. The more the man was talking, the more the seer raised his eyebrows. And even though his strange glasses were completely hiding his eyes from view, Harry had no doubt the man was utterly baffled.

When Mr. Evans came to the part where Harry had broken the statute of secrecy, he finally turned to him, "What madness drove you to ask for the help of a muggle?"

"Inspector Granger's descendant is a good friend of mine," he explained. "And-"

"-and that in itself does not mean anything," he interrupted. "The fact that two people are related does not mean they are necessarily alike. He could have revealed the existence of magic to everybody and even helped that Auror to arrest you for what was at the time a perceived offense. You could have gotten in serious troubles. How could you even know that-"

"Mesmer," Mr. Evans cut in, "he knew."

"He got lucky," he fought back. "There's a difference between knowing and believing. Between trusting and hoping. He didn't have all the facts and everything could have-"

"You do realize that approach of yours would have killed me, don't you?"

Mesmer stilled.

Mr. Evans shrugged. "You would have probably found a way to make that detective stop putting his nose in our business and maybe you would have tried to help me. But I would have still tried to blackmail Brutus and this time nobody would have been there to attack him from behind. What Harry's done may not make sense to you, that doesn't mean there is none. You just... can't see it."

For a moment, the seer didn't do anything. He didn't speak, he didn't move, he didn't react at all. And no matter how hard Harry was trying to find a tell, his glasses' coloured lenses were completely hiding his eyes from view and it seemed impossible to know what the seer was thinking.

Finally, he nodded. "My apologies," he said to Harry. "That was not my intention to imply you took the wrong decision. I only want to point out that you cannot expect this approach to work all the time." Turning to Mr. Evans, he added, "Still, if the situation you put yourself in was as dire as you say, I suppose Mr. Potter is not the only one with a lucky star here."

Mr. Evans lowly chuckled. "Are you considering joining the Order of Astoria, now?"

"No, I'm most definitely not. I'm just wondering… Hadn't Mr. Potter saved you, you would have died childless. Meaning that Mr. Potter would have never be born. So how could a descendant who would have never existed in the first place come to save you, do you think?"

The two men looked at each other a moment. Finally, Mr. Evans tried, "The Higher Being-"

The other man laughed.

* * *

There was something poking Harry's back.

Turning around, he blinked when he saw it was the little girl.

"Hello," she said, "who are you?"

Harry spluttered at her forwardness. "W-Well I'm Harry. Harry Potter."

She tilted her head. "You're sure? You look like Time Keeper, and Time Keeper's last name isn't Potter. Are you really sure you're not confused?"

Harry looked for help. Professor Mesmer and Mr. Evans after glancing at the girl went back to their conversation, leaving Harry alone to deal with her. "Yes, I'm pretty sure. And who- who are you exactly?"

The girl gave him a bright smile. "I'm Hogwarts' future divination professor!"

Harry felt a headache coming.

"You see," she started babbling, "in more or less twenty years, Caecilius will resign because he will be very, very scared that in light of what is going to happen-"

"Alice," Professor Mesmer interrupted, "what have we said about giving away spoilers?"

The girl pursued her lips and looked at the floor. "Not to," she mumbled.

"And what were you trying to do?"

"But you do it all the time!" she protested. Sharply raising her head she exclaimed, "Why can you and everybody else do it and I can't? That's-That's not fair!"

"Well, the others and I are grown-ups."

"I'm a grown-up too!"

"Even if you were, that is not how a witch should introduce herself. You were so busy trying to steal my job you haven't even given Mr. Potter your own name when you've forced him to give you his. That's rude, Alice. You've been raised better than that."

Alice flinched and looked at her feet. "Hello," she murmured, "my name is Alice Lovegood. Pleasure to meet you."

"Much better."

Harry paused and numbly looked at the blonde girl.

Distantly, he know that little girl didn't have to be Luna's great-grandmother. That person would normally get that name the day would marry. Still, she was at the very least a relative of hers. And maybe the wizarding world was a small world, it seemed like he couldn't help meeting his friends' family by pure accident.

But was it really an accident? Harry wasn't that lucky so how? How could this happen and what was the catch?

The little girl was now looking at him with big innocent blue eyes. "Play with me."

"Err-"

She gave him a sweet smile. "Pretty please? I'm learning tasso-tasso- I'm learning to see the future by reading tea leaves and we have very good tea here. Don't you wanna try it? I can be mother if you want."

"And I'm not… I'm not really into tea parties," he weakly tried.

She tilted her head. "Really? That's odd. That's very odd because in the future you're going to have many of them.

* * *

The girl all but jumped on his teacup once he was done drinking. Humming a somewhat familiar tune, she looked at the bottom of his teacup.

"I think I see a butterfly," Alice finally declared. She then frowned.

"The butterfly represents success," Harry tried to help the girl.

"I know that!" she snapped. "It's just... I can also see a green butterfly around you too so I'm just wondering… why?"

Harry blinked. "Do you now?"

It was true that the butterfly that seemed intent on not dying was still following him from time to time, but the animal had quietly stayed at the Evans' for once.

"I've got… well, I've got a green butterfly."

Her eyes widened. "You've got a butterfly as a pet?" she breathed. "Wicked! How did you manage that?" She blinked several times and declared, "It has to be a sign!"

Harry gave up. "A sign of what?" he humoured her.

"I don't know," Alice admitted. "B-But I know they are very important and- and… What what the name of that person whose name also meant butterfly again? It's on the tip on my tongue."

She paused and decided to stick her tongue, her blue eyes trying to look at it, as if the answer was _actually_ there.

Harry's lips twitched. "What else do you see?"

The little girl stopped squinting. "It's not really _seeing_ , you know? Some seers like Caecilius see, but it depends from person to person. Madame Soleil for example-"

"Sweetheart, you shouldn't bother Mr. Potter here."

The two of them jumped when Madame Soleil came behind Alice and took Harry's teacup.

"But-"

"I know you must find coming here very boring-"

"I don't!" the child protested.

"-and I'm sorry you don't have girls your age to play with but I do not believe a fine man like Mr. Potter here find tea parties to his tastes."

"But-"

"Do you want me to play with you, Alice?" Madame Soleil softly asked. "I can show you a very neat trick to make the teacups dance and-"

Harry mutely looked at Madame Soleil convincing little Alice she made a far better partner to play with. As the woman began charming the tea service, he suddenly realized something.

None of the people in the room has had any problem with him indulging the child until the girl had started talking about them.

Harry slowly got up and left the table, leaving the two playing.

He supposed that was to be expected, he reflected. If Harry didn't want anybody to discover how he knew the future, he supposed the same could be said about them. If what Mr. Evans had said about them was true, then there had to be numerous secrets they were keeping and didn't want strangers to discover.

Seeing Mr. Evans sitting at the table with the others, he walked in their direction. Leaning down, he asked "What should I-"

Mr. Evans shushed him. "We're getting to the good part."

"Are you sure?" a woman at the table breathed.

"Certain," a man with a blue turban gravelly nodded. "In the future, muggles will learn how to speak to birds."

"What?" Harry said.

"It started like this," Mr. Evans murmured. "In a century, give or take a few years, an acromulenta is going to weave a web so wide it will cover the entire world. And instead of being rightfully frightened, muggles will start surfing on it."

Harry stared.

"At this point, Madame Soleil had informed them before leaving the table that the amazons of old will ride again and now we're at the point when muggles start tweeting."

There was silence. Then Harry heard behind him little Alice whispering, "Muggles are terrifying."

Mr. Evans pointed at the empty chair on his right. "You should take a seat and enjoy the show. Trelawney is always late for the poker tournament so we've still got at least ten minutes of entertainment."

"Speaking of late," Professor Mesmer cut in. "I've got a portkey to take at eight o'clock. As I've got to bring Alice to her uncle first, would you please warn me when it's seven thirty?"

Mr. Evans took his fob watch and started playing with the crown. "Sure. Seven thirty, you say? That should be doable."

The man pocketed his watch and went back to listening the other seers' ramblings. Apparently, there was going to be an era when muggles will suddenly be crazy about windows and another when it would be apples.

Harry had to admit it took him a moment to realize he needed to put a capital on each brand to understand what they were on about.

It was like that story Mr. Evans had told him before coming here. Yes, Professor Mesmer had insisted on the importance of context but never before had Harry seen this problem so keenly.

Ultimately, these seers didn't have context. And they might try all they wanted to draw or recreate whatever they saw, they just couldn't get the whole picture. Even with their best efforts, some information would always get lost and what little scraps they got were just words that didn't mean anything.

* * *

The seers all broadly smiled when Cassandra Trelawney finally entered the room.

"So glad you could come," Madame Soleil greeted the woman. "Of course we knew you were going to but as you weren't there last week…"

"I do. Nevertheless, let me reassure you: the Higher Being's always intended me to come here, tonight," Cassandra Trelawney declared. "There might have been a couple obstacles on my path but there were not put there to stop me but merely to insure I came to you at the proper time and do what needs to be done without anymore tribulations to face."

Professor Mesmer, Mr. Evans and Harry snorted.

"Nevertheless, the Higher Being has informed me that to do what I came for, I will need the help of Mesmer."

The man tilted his head. "Do you now? In what way am I supposed to help you, Trelawney?"

"There is a letter an important person needs to receive," the blind woman informed him. "A very important letter and I need you to write it in my stead."

"Sure." Getting up, he summoned a piece of parchment and a quill. "What do you want me to write?" He asked as he went to her and posed the parchment on the table where Alice was still playing with her dancing teacups.

"Dear Sybill," the greatest seer of the century began reciting, "Congratulation on you obtaining the Divination position."

Harry choked on his own saliva.

* * *

It was a grinning Mesmer who finished writing the missive Trelawney wanted to send to her descendant. "I hope you don't mind if I add a little post-scriptum. I've always believed one should train his replacements early."

"Do what you have to."

Alice, who had stopped playing to watch what they were doing, was grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Can I write something too when you're done, Caecilius?"

"You may. However, I want you to make a draft first."

"I won't say too much! I swear it!"

"Actually, I'm more worried about the mistakes. And remember: it needs to be vague enough dear Sybill can only figure out the meaning once it's happening."

Grabbing the parchment and pencil the man's just conjured, the girl began her task.

Harry was also smiling. Nevertheless, he felt like he needed to ask, "Isn't it dangerous? I mean, if she ever tells anybody she's got a message from you all..."

The man, who had started reading over Alice's shoulder, snorted. "Who's ever going to believe her?"

It took all Harry's efforts not to laugh. "Can I- Can I also write something?"

"I suppose you may add a few lines once Alice's done. Same rules."

Once the girl handed him the parchment, he took great care in telling his former divination professor to be very wary of pink toads.

"It'll make sense," he promised.

* * *

Once Professor Mesmer took the finished letter for safe-keeping, Trelawney sat with the other seers for their poker tournament.

The first thing she announced was that she was going to lose terribly.

"You always lose," Mr. Evans pointed out. "So that was an easy guess."

"Shouldn't we wait for our colleague?" Madame Soleil asked. "I mean it is possible-"

"He's not coming," Professor Mesmer answered." And he's not going to come back here."

That statement had been said with such conviction the other seers couldn't help frowning. "Is there something you know that we don't, Mesmer?"

The man closed his eyes and sighed. "From what I understand, he has decided during the holidays to go on a pilgrimage."

"A pilgrimage?" Madame Soleil incredulously exclaimed.

"To Saint Nicholas Monastery, apparently. He's just come back but… Well, we cannot say he hasn't been drawing back from the guild for months and we didn't know this was coming."

The people around the table all grimaced.

"So we're now one player short."

Madame Soleil frowned. "That just won't do," she murmured. "Surely there's something we can do to insure we remain nine on this table. There has to be somebody who can take his place here."

The seers all looked at each other. Finally they all turned to Harry.

At the sight of the seers all intently looking at him, Harry winced. "What?"

"Blessed the Higher Being," one of them murmured.

* * *

In front of Harry, Trelawney's white eyes were seemingly looking at the cards the woman's got.

"Alright, I've got to ask. If Trelawney is really blind, how on earth is she playing?"

"Something something the Higher Being," Mr. Evans muttered. "Now please shut up and focus on your own cards, I need to concentrate."

Harry spluttered. Finally, he checked his hand once more.

Full house.

He absent-mindedly played with his chips, considering what he should do. Granted, they had all agreed no money was going to be bet for the first game, but that didn't mean Harry wasn't going to take this seriously.

Finally he pushed his chips. "All in."

When it was time to reveal their cards, Harry realized he's got the best hand.

"Beginner's luck," somebody remarked.

That didn't Harry from taking the chips.

"Now that Mr. Potter here's got a taste of how we're playing here, perhaps we can add a few sickles on the table, don't you think?" Madame Soleil proposed. "Not much, maybe a sickle each."

"I'm in."

"Me too."

"Me three."

Harry hesitated. While he did have seventeen sickles on him, he had planned to give them to Phineas Nigellus Black and finally pay off his debt.

"It's just one sickle," Madame Soleil pointed out.

"… Just one sickle."

He got a royal flush. And it was with a wide grin that Harry took all the money.

He was rich again!

And he could have been even richer had he put his seventeen sickles, he realized.

When Harry looked at his third hand, he put all his money on the table.

He lost everything.

"Did you really believe you were going to win?" Mr. Evans asked as Madame Soleil took Harry's hard-earned money.

Harry tried not to weep. "I thought-"

"You thought what? That luck was on your side?" He snorted. "There's no such thing as luck when you play poker with a seer. So when there are seven of them..."

Harry warily looked at the people at the table. "What do you mean there's no such thing as luck?" he carefully asked.

Madame Soleil innocently smiled.

And Harry just knew. "You cheated?" he screamed.

"Everybody here is cheating, Harry."

"I am most certainly not cheating!" Trelawney protested.

"Which is probably why you're always losing," Mr. Evans pointed out. "You're facing genuine seers, Harry. Do you honestly believe nobody knew which hands you had beforehand and that you won by pure luck? No, they were just playing dumb so that they could get all your sickles."

Harry gapped.

"There's a very good reason why we are all strictly forbidden to bet," Professor Mesmer added. "We cheat, that's what we do. As we're all doing this, it is not forbidden but necessary if you don't want to lose all your savings. You've got to cheat if you want to survive here. It's the hidden rule everybody on this table just knows. And this is one you had to discover the hard way. So now that you've lost everything, please leave the table."

Mr. Evans checked his watch. "It's also time for you to go. If you don't want to miss your portkey you should leave now."

"Thank you. Alice," he called, "time to go home."

"Don't wanna."

"Alice," he warned.

"And where are you going exactly this time?" Beauxbatons Divination Professor asked him. "I thought your tour to Europe was over."

"He's going to see the Russian Love Machine," the six years old answered as she regretfully left the table she had been playing on.

The older man opened his mouth in shock. "That is so wrong, Alice. Don't-Don't say that ever again."

"Why?" Humming a strange tune, she declared, "I like it. It's very catchy."

"Just don't."

* * *

Harry was still mourning his fifteen sickles when he and Mr. Evans finally left the Divination guild's headquarters one hour later.

He had been greedy. He had wanted more than he had and now he had nothing. How was he going to deal with Phineas Nigellus Black when he was back to Hogwarts? He couldn't just say 'I lost everything in poker', could he? Now the man was going kick him out and he'd have no choice but to moonlight as a magician. And though the possibility didn't particularly bother him, how was he supposed-"

"Harry, catch."

Only his quick reflexes spent trying to catch the snitch allowed him to grab the small golden object Mr. Evans had tossed. Opening his hand, he noticed that was a galleon.

"Fifteen sickles equals a galleon," he explained. "As I've won enough tonight, it's yours if you keep your mouth shut and don't tell Maggie about my fondness for gambling."

"Deal."

Harry quickly put the galleon in his pocket. "How did you manage to win so much by the way? If everybody was cheating..."

"I was cheating too." He shrugged. "Not like them of course but sometimes they're focusing so much of what is going to happen they do not notice what is happening under their eyes. It's difficult but you can trick a seer. I've just spent enough time with them to know how."

"And how do you do it?"

"That's a secret. And no, I'm not going to tell you this one: this is not a secret that is mine to give."

Harry sighed and numbly nodded.

"But don't bet money if you cannot afford to lose it. I know they were goading you but that was still very stupid of you to let yourself be manipulated like this."

"I know. It's just-"

"It's just that they seem so harmless?" he finished. "Of course they do, they make a point in looking as harmless as possible. With gifts like theirs, you do not survive long if those around you start thinking just how dangerous you can be. They are able to literally get a glimpse of the future so why do you think they aren't more feared than Parselmouths?"

His lessons with Mesmer had taught him how to look as innocent as possible but he had to admit he hadn't considered the fact that the man himself and the other seers he's just met may not be as innocent as they first appeared.

Something in his face must have given away what he was thinking for Mr. Evans' face softened. "They are good people," he assured him. "They just… Let's just say there's a reason why I wouldn't want to have their gifts."


	34. The Divination Professors Part2

A muggle author once described St Petersburg as the most abstract and intentional city on the entire globe.

While it was indeed true that the capital of the Russian Empire presented a certain duality, her gleaming aristocratic facades concealing all of human's miseries, it was more the large magical side of the city that had made it this city so peculiar. Indeed, while the Russian Ministry of magic had somehow found an excuse to justify the lack of night in summer, incidents when a muggle would witness a magical events were aplenty and a few muggles ultimately managed to escape the obliviating squad to write about what they saw, believing they got some supernatural vision. For this reason, the city gained a very strange reputation and muggle would now just shrug off whenever something strange was happening.

For this reason, when Caecilius finally left the Russian Ministry of magic nobody reacted at the sight of a man with glasses whose lenses were red and blue retrieving from his breast pocket a little pendulum and making it swing.

As always, he needed to go west.

Following the pendulum's instructions, he finally reached Dyrǎvyĭ kotel, the wizarding pub used as a gateway between the muggle and wizarding world. Still looking at his pendulum from time to time, he finally entered the decrepit pub. Inside, a group of wizards were playing cards and a man with a long black beard cleaning a glass behind the counter was pestering orders to a rather good-looking waitress.

Seeing the pendulum was now turning in circles, Caecilius nodded to himself and put the magical artefact in his breast-pocket. "Excuse me," he told the pub owner in Russian, "I feel like I should warn you that it is highly possible Durmstrang Divination Professor will come to your pub in a few minutes." Adjusting his particular glasses, he added, "Perhaps you should take your precautions in case this happens."

There was a flash. In the potential future he was seeing through his blue lense, the man was saying what seemed to be colourful language at him, in the potential future he was seeing through his pink lense, the man was dropping the glass he had been cleaning and running away.

The man dropped his glass. Leaving the counter, he took the waitress by the arm and forcefully brought her upstairs.

While his reaction was a little extreme, there was a reason why every wizard in St Petersburg knew they had to hide their woman whenever Durmstrang Divination Professor was near.

As soon as the pub owner and the waitress vanished from his view, Caecilius heard the door behind him opening. Turning in the direction of the noise, he saw a slav in his late twenties with a rather long black beard entering the pub.

There was a flash when the man's cold blue eyes finally spotted him. In one future, the man didn't react at all when he saw him, in another future he was mumbling under his breath. And even though it was ultimately the first potential future that came to pass, Caecilius was good enough at lip reading to know what he could have said was 'Chto ya sdelal, chtoby zasluzhit' eto?'

What have I done to deserve this?

Caecilius widely grinned. "I'm sure a few muggles could answer that question for you. If rumours are to be trusted, you have stolen a few horses, are guilty of blasphemy and bore false witness against your neighbours. Quite an achievement really."

The other man gave him an annoyed look. "Mesmer," he cutly said in english, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"The Higher Being brought me here." Seeing the man bristling he laughed. "More seriously, I have heard than you've been on pilgrimage and I wanted a few tips in case I ever wanted to follow your path. Also, we missed you tonight and I wanted to know how you were."

The Russian's right eyebrow twitched. "I have no time to waste for the likes of you. And before you ask, no, I have no intention of going back to that madhouse."

Caecilius pretended to be hurt. "Is that how you treat your friends? Because if that's the case then you shouldn't be surprised if-"

"We're not friends," he interrupted. "Never were, never will."

"You wound me."

"You'll recover I'm sure."

He shrugged with a smile. "Perhaps. But you surely understand why we are slightly surprised by this strange turn of events. Granted, you have never been fond of the guild but we hadn't realized you wanted to outright leave it." He sighed. "Oh well, I wish it hadn't been like this but I suppose I will have to choice but to tell the others what we Saw was unfortunately true. We're going to miss you, Rasputin."

Actually, that one was an outright lie. Caecilius had never been very fond of how Rasputin was handling several matters and was half-tempted to tell him just that.

Apparently, there was a future where he would have for the man scowled. "I didn't think you would gloat. Is that really why you came here?"

"No," he truthfully replied.

"Then why did you?"

Behind his spectacles, Caecilius' right eye twitched.

While he did have the effect of surprise and had prepared accordingly for this confrontation, Grigori Rasputin was also a master manipulator, one with a third eye slightly more open than his. What little Caecilius was going to slip by accident about the future would be immediately spotted by these cold blue eyes.

In other words, if he didn't want to give everything away, Caecilius not only had to use occlumency but also had to make sure there would be no future where he accidently spilled the beans. The only way to hide something from a seer was not numerous plans or much planning, but outright spontaneity.

And this peculiar thing was something every seer was struggling with.

"I suppose I was worried," he finally admitted. "And while I do trust my third eye, I also like to use the other two from time to time. I only thought it was better to get the truth from you directly."

The man's left eyebrow twitched as he was most certainly reviewing every potential answers Caecilius could have given.

He must have found something he was be satisfied with for he nodded and said, "Very well. As you can see, there was no reason at all for you to worry."

'Now go away,' the Rasputin he was seeing through his blue lense finished.

He nodded. "I am so sorry to have taken your time, Rasputin. I know you have barely come back from your pilgrimage and I have no doubt it had been rough on you-"

There was not one future where Rasputin wasn't wincing. And sure enough, he did just that.

"So would you allow me buy you a drink to apologize?"

"No alcohol."

These two words had been spoken so quickly and so firmly Caecilius couldn't help blinking several times. "Really? You love vodka. Not even a year ago you-"

"That was then. This is now."

"Well then," he tried to recover. "How about dinner? You must be starving."

He only realized his mistake too late. Seeing the man's wide grin, Caecilius felt like he was a turkey who had just voted for Christmas.

"Why not? You're right, I'm starving."

* * *

The difference between offering somebody a drink and offering a meal was that it was far more difficult to escape a conversation when you have proposed the later. So it was only natural for Rasputin to take the occasion offered to him to ask him a few questions.

"So I heard that you are finally going to teach Divination above what your country calls Ordinary Wizarding Levels," Rasputin idly remarked as the main course came.

Caecilius had been tempted by the pub's beef stroganoff, Rasputin on the other hand had asked for a vegetarian meal.

Another thing that had changed about the man who used to be fond of meat. Could going on a pilgrimage really change a person that much? And why a pilgrimage to begin with?

He smelled the meal and hummed. "Have you now? You must have far better ears than I do then."

So he wasn't the only one doing the spying. That was good to know, he was starting to feel guilty.

"I have to admit I'm rather proud of myself. True, I like to think I am an excellent teacher but so few get the marks I ask to open a divination class. I must have done something good." That being said, he took his fork and began eating.

"I'm sure you have," Rasputin dryly stated. "One of them is your headmaster's son, am I correct?"

Caecilius swallowed his food and automatically smiled. "You are. His name is Phineas Black and I must say he is just as brilliant as his namesake. I know Professor Black is putting a lot of expectations on his shoulders but I must admit they are strong. I just wish both father and son could start seeing young Phineas for who he is instead of who they believe he should be."

But looking at the man in front of him, it was clear his colleague didn't care about the boy. So why asking him such question? What was he really after?

When Rasputin started humming, Caecilius couldn't help tensing. "I suppose you're right. And the other one is one of us, am I also correct?"

Mesmer immediately burst to laugh. "Listening to students' gossip now, are you?"

The man smirked. And despite all his efforts, Caecilius just couldn't see anything in the near future that could help him understand what was truly going on.

"I suppose I should congratulate you, Mesmer. There are so few of us it is always heartwarming when one is spotted before something happens. What is his name if I may?"

As he had no illusion the man already knew he had no problem answering, "Harry Potter."

Rasputin slowly nodded. "Any relation with that pureblood family?"

"I'm not really sure. I can make a few educated guesses but I'm afraid I cannot give you a definitive answer. He may be, he may not. All that I really know is that is related to Patrick Evans."

The other seer frowned an instant. Finally he rolled his eyes. "You mean the Squib."

"Magician," he tightly corrected.

A snort. "You do realize the only one who actually cares about him is you, don't you? The others may indulge your fancy but a non-seer has no place at our side. A non-wizard even less."

He couldn't help scowling. "You'd be surprised."

Rasputin gave him a condescending smirk. "Perhaps you have convinced a few, but you haven't convinced everybody and certainly not _me_."

"It's a good thing you're gone then, isn't it? And also," he couldn't help adding, "I do believe we can learn a lot from our clients and anybody who does not happen to have the Sight. Unlike you, I refuse to let my prejudices corrupt what I see."

It was an old argument the two of them have had many times. And sure enough the man rolled his eyes and didn't bother defending himself, knowing perfectly well that this discussion would go nowhere.

Caecilius was eating his stroganoff and considering his next move when Rasputin spoke again, "What sort of person is this 'Harry Potter'?" Seeing Caecillius raising his head he shrugged. "You're giving high praises to this Phineas. It is only natural to wonder what the teacher thinks about his other student. Especially when this person happens to be a seer."

He took his napkin and pretended to wipe his mouth to hide it from the other seer. Ignoring the other seer's glare, he thought about what to say a moment. What he was allowed to say, what he wasn't allowed to even imply. What could satisfy the other man's curiosity. Finally he posed his napkin.

"I suppose I should begin by stating he's nice but a little dumb. And when I say dumb, I mean it as rather naive. Imagine, he was looking for a book on occlumency in our library and he is _still_ not wondering why a master occlumens like myself happened to borrow every single book on it _minutes_ before he could do the same."

The other seer unceremoniously snorted. "That gives one more than enough time to use legilimency on the boy and extract all his secrets without him knowing any better. If he doesn't even realize the one person who has left him vulnerable for several days or weeks may have done that for this very reason, he _is_ very dumb."

"I admit that I did not do that, though I confess I was tempted once or twice."

He would have if he hadn't already known all he wanted. Granted the wizard hadn't known how his Sight worked and couldn't have known he could see several possible futures but why on earth had he been so tempted to just spill the beans and say 'I'm actually a time-traveler' the very day they met?

"Then why did you?"

"Why, to give him an incentive to seek me, of course."

"Oh right." His lips twitched. "That generally works. I do hope you intend to cure this wide-eyed child of that particular flaw."

Caecilius didn't answer.

"Anything else you are going to teach him?"

Behind his glasses, Caecilius frowned.

So _this_ was what Rasputin truly wanted to know. Forget the one or two politicians he's had to throw under the Abraxans during the starter, it was _Harry Potter_ Durmstrang Divination Professor was truly interested in.

But why? The two were in different countries, so why was he so fixated on him? Could he know he was a time-traveller? It seemed unlikely so could he know something Caecilius didn't? If one were to ignore the fact that Harry Potter was from the future, the wizard was not that different from the other students so what was this hiding?

"For now I'm focusing on Divination."

"Naturally, but what then? Knowing the future is all good, but it is meaningless if you do not do something with it. That second part is as important as the first, perhaps even more. I've heard he did brilliantly for these Ordinary Wizarding Levels of yours. Surely such talents must be nurtured, no?"

"What are you proposing then?"

Rasputin started caressing his beard. "I've heard he was excellent at Defence Against the Dark Arts and even managed to conjured a fully corporeal patronus. It'd be such a waste to not nurture this part. And if he's good at Defence then the Dark Arts will come as easily as breathing."

Cecilius almost choked on his food. After swallowing, he gave the other man the brightest and most fake smile he got _._ "We don't teach the Dark Arts at Hogwarts."

"Ah yes," he absent-mindedly murmured. "I forgot you don't. I've never understood this part, to be honest."

As the man seemed to be lost in his reflections, Caecilius desperately tried to find a way to make him stop this interrogation.

 _Focus, Mesmer_ , a voice that sounded awfully like Professor Black's said. _Don't let him make you lose sight of your goal. You came here before you wanted to know why he has been behaving so strangely and what he was planning. If you want to get your answers, then you've got to get to the heart of it. Understand why he's so focused on the boy._

Because if getting to know Harry Potter truly was his newest fancy, then the man would have had a golden opportunity earlier had he decided to come at the Divination guild Headquarters. Granted, Caecilius would have warned Evans not to bring the boy had he thought this could happen but at least Rasputin would have made an attempt. In this respect, his earlier decision was completely counterproductive.

So what was Rasputin truly seeking?

"Why did you really leave the guild?"

Rasputin seemed to snap out of his reflections and looked at him, face impassible.

"Granted, you were never very enthusiastic about it, but we all believed you were getting something out of it and were not willing to risk that. So why such a change of heart? Did we do something that displeased you in particular?"

For a moment, Caecilius thought the man wasn't going to answer. There were several futures where he was brushing off his concerns, in fact. There was then the different answers he could potentially give him. And they were so numerous he knew more than half of them were a lie without even looking into it.

He sighed. He hated where people were being dishonest. In that ocean of lies, finding something remotely genuine was even more difficult than searching for a needle in a haystack without a wand and Caecilius had to do this all the time.

What was the truth? What was a lie? Which option was he supposed to pick? If people were so distrustful, then what was genuine?

Eeny, meeny, miny, moe…

"It's not what you did, it's what you did _not_ do."

Caecilius dazedly blinked and went back to focusing on the present Rasputin. "What we didn't do?" he numbly repeated.

He nodded. "When I first came to the Guild, I believed we were going to do something with our gifts, that we would use them to guide our world to a better place."

"We're not doing nothing."

"But you're not doing _enough_."

There was something in the seer's voice that sounded genuine. A fervor he had rarely showed the other seers in all the years they've known him. And perhaps him leaving them wasn't as sudden as they had all first believed.

"Trelawney may have a lot of influence over our politicians and I am aware that you try to steer a few from making rash decisions but ultimately we are doing nothing but playing the court jester as the world around us is burning."

"The world is not burning."

" _Yet_."

Mesmer grimaced and looked away.

While the British and Russian Empire were at their zenith, both he and his colleague had no choice but to contemplate their twilight. Like one's eyes couldn't help focusing on the one black spot at the middle of a white parchment and gloss over everything else, seers had no choice but to stare at the darkness coming their way. And it was utterly foolish to believe that this darkness was not going to swallow them whole.

"I find the way you're all handling the entire situation to be distasteful," he heard his colleague saying, "and I think playing cards is a waste of time, especially when there are far more important things to worry about."

Looking at the windows and avoiding the other man's reproachful face, Caecilius looked at the group of wizards playing poker.

"What do you expect us to do?" he murmured. "Not only don't we have the faintest idea what brought these horrors and how to avoid them, nobody is going to listen to us."

Nobody wanted to know the future. It was a truth Caecilius had learned very early. They might not realize it themselves, but even the people who went to see a seer -especially the people who came to see the seer- didn't truly want to learn from a wacky man what their tomorrow was going to be like. And out of the three sort of people seeking them, none of them wanted to hear bad news and could be easily upset if they were to deviate from what was expected of them.

And by upset, Caecilius meant accidentally forgetting one shouldn't curse the messenger.

"We'll make them."

* * *

Why had he thought seeing Rasputin was a good idea again?

"Let's suppose they _do_ listen to us," Caecilius tried to reason the other man, hiding how uncomfortable the conversation was making him behind cold logic. "How do you intend to stop something that is in some cases going to happen in twenty years? In _fifty_ years? We only have glimpses, never the full picture. Even with our combined efforts, we are still in the dark. We just cannot see a way out."

"Do you know why you don't? Because you keep hesitating. What does this means, what if I'm misunderstanding what I'm seeing… You may think you're being careful, but these hesitations only trouble your mind and make it harder for you to see clearly," Durmstrang Divination Professor countered. "And we cannot let the little things make us lose sight of the big picture. I can only hope that your student will not make the same mistake you keep doing."

Caecilius grimaced.

That made him pause. "Did he do something you disapprove?"

Caecilius considered denying it. At the same time he didn't believe it was harmful to share this point.

He humourlessly chuckled. If he was hesitating so much, then Rasputin was going to know anyway. Considering his colleague was being honest for perhaps the first time he's known him, he supposed he should grant him the same courtesy.

"It's not that I disapprove really. I just… don't understand." Seeing the other man tilting his head, he sighed. "I'll spare you the details, I doubt you'd care what brought this on. Let's just say his methods and mine do not align on this specific subject. I wouldn't have done anything, he has. And in this instance, he was in the right and I've been told I would have been in the wrong."

The worst thing about it was that even with the explanation given Caecilius still couldn't understand. Who would be mad enough to trust a mere muggle and break the statute of secrecy? How on earth hadn't this entire mess blown up on his face? The odds everything was going to be fine were so low Caecilius was certain he would have never seen them even if he's had all the time in the world to stare at every single potential future.

The boy's told him after the subject was settled that he had tried to see what he was supposed to do and had drawn the cards. What he got was the Devil, the King of Swords, the Hermit, the Tower and the Magician. And if he ultimately hadn't used this reading to make his decision, he was curious to know what it was supposed to say.

The Devil had been freedom, release, the King of swords as it represented authority had been symbolizing that muggle Auror and the Hermit the journey of self-discovery he was going to take as the truth about the wizarding world was revealed. As for the Tower and the Magician, it was the utter end of Evans' problems, the man harassing him for a good decade or two being arrested and the magician being released of his former bonds.

Hindsight was always 20/20. And if Caeciliuss had more or less guessed which cards got picked after hearing their story, he knew perfectly would have never understood the cards this way had they been presented to him.

But then again he had always been wrong whenever Patrick Evans was involved so perhaps that was to be expected.

The magician had admitted years later that he surprisingly hadn't been the worst person his father had forced him to meet. It was just that his honesty had somehow made him realize how done he truly was of being told again and again how he should live his life and how gratting it had been to realize his father and he had come to trust _cards_ over what Patrick could do. Young Patrick Evans had just needed to scream all his resentment to the world.

'Y _ou were… You were like a mirror, Mesmer. A little smarter than the one we had at home, but it was like you were reflecting everything I was showing you tenfold._ _And honestly? I didn't like what I was seeing_. _And I was so disgusted I felt like I needed to prove to you and to the world that you were wrong on_ everything.'

His lips twitched.

His colleague was now looking at him with interest. "Oh really. And which conclusion have you reached now?"

"One I've suspected for a long time. That maybe that naming seer my parents met had been unto something when he decided I should be known as 'Caecilius'."

The blind one. When it was discovered he had the Sight, little Caecilius had been quick to dismiss the meaning behind his first name, believing his parents had merely met a fraud or a person with a sick sense of humour.

But there was so many things he missed, so much he couldn't see. He might be able to see far in the future, people like Evans and Potter could somehow look into people's hearts and just know who they truly were.

"Have you ever wondered why we were given our gifts?" he asked the Durmstrang Divination Professor.

He chuckled. "I don't think there's a single seer who hasn't. Isn't that why we are all referring to God, Anake, the Higher Being and other divinities so often? We may not agree on the name, there has to be some divinity. If we know Trelawney is not the one talking when she makes a prophecy, then who is?"

"But why Trelawney? Why us? _Why_ ? If there is really a Higher Being, what did they see in us to decide we should be granted the Sight?

A shrug. "I suppose they Saw we would be worthy of it and were going to use it as intended."

"And that's where we disagree, where we've always disagreed. If being granted the dubious gift of seeing the future was a matter of merit, shouldn't the same logic apply to magic? Wizard are simply superior beings compared to muggles while said muggles are nothing but vile creatures. Muggleborns have only proved they deserved a chance to prove themselves while squibs are revealed to be unworthy. I know for a fact this logic is faulty, meaning ours has to be erroneous as well."

Rasputin let out a long-suffering sigh. "Not again."

He sadly smiled. "I'm aware we're turning in circles. But this is what I believe and recent events have only reinforced my convictions."

If the Sight wasn't given on merit then there were few options left. And none of them painted them in a very good light.

"So you're against me."

He frowned at these words. "I want the same thing you want, dear colleague. The same thing we all want: for the best future we can have to come to pass."

He just didn't think it was their call to decide which one it was. Or how to grab it.

* * *

The waitress had somehow found a way to escape her boss and possibly husband and was now serving dessert.

As she was posing his Napoleon cake in front of him while giving a sultry smile to the Russian, Caecilius couldn't help thinking that something in all this didn't make sense.

Where did Harry Potter fit in all this? Because while it was possible that Rasputin's views on the future and his strange interest in Harry Potter were completely unrelated, Caecilius wasn't one to believe in such coincidences. Did he know the boy was from the future and wanted to use him? Did he have a vision involving him? Did he hear the same things he had? While he didn't believe the man would actually wish the boy harm, Caecillius knew he wouldn't stop feeling dread until he knew what this was all hiding.

But how could he figure it out? he wondered as Rasputin was smiling and murmuring sweet words in Russian to the waitress. Their discussion was in all respect over and he knew the man well enough to know he wasn't going to tell him anything. Not willingly at least. More than that, he had nothing that could truly grab his attention and make him slip.

As the blushing waitress started flirting back, Caecilius looked around and paused at the sight of the wizards still playing poker.

His lips twitched.

Well, it _was_ poker night. And he was still in a betting mood.

Taking advantage of the fact nobody was looking at him, Caecilius reached for his wand and waved it in his pocket.

There was a scream. Suddenly a man on the betting table got up and punched the one facing him.

The waitress ran to grab the furious man as the other one took his wand and started fighting back with a well-placed curse.

"Looks like somebody finally realized the other was cheating," Caecilius remarked.

As the pub owner finally came back to push the players out of the pub, Rasputin gave a long-suffering sigh and went back to eating his dessert, "Amateur."

"Speaking of amateurs, did I tell you we stole all of Mr. Potter's pocket money tonight?" He chuckled. "Kid actually thought we were playing fair."

The man froze. "The boy was at the guild tonight?" he numbly asked.

"I told you he was related to Evans, didn't I? The boy apparently insisted on coming." Taking his spoon he started eating his Napoleon cake. "As you were unfortunately not here, Soleil insisted on him taking your seat, and trying his luck."

Seeing the man's face and the variation of either annoyance or shock he could have shown him, it was clear the man hadn't been expecting this and was even regretting not taking this occasion to meet him.

Tough luck, Caecilius had specifically insured the other man wouldn't come for All Hallow's Eve so he couldn't ruin the party and/or take interest in the boy. Furthermore, had he even suspected he was going to come tonight he would have specifically told Evans _not_ to bring him. Nonetheless, he should have at the least made an attempt.

Conclusion: Rasputin had never considered the idea that Harry Potter was going come to the guild and had he known that fact he would have stayed a little longer and attempted to meet him.

Beginner mistake, Rasputin. Beginner mistake.

It was even suspicious. The man was clever, _very_ clever so why had he missed that possibility?

Granted the man couldn't have known the boy was related to Evans. Nevertheless, he had known he was keeping an eye on Harry Potter and as such it was just possible he would mention the boy if not outright introduce him to the rest of the guild in the near future.

So why? Why had he made such basic mistake?

He took another spoonful of his dessert and hummed in appreciation.

And promptly stopped when he noticed Rasputin had finally realized what he was doing and was now glaring,

He innocently blinked. "Is everything alright?"

His lips twitched. "I wonder… Does your protégé realize what you're doing?"

He frowned at these words. "What I'm doing?"

"Yes." Leaning on his chair and crossing his arms he smirked. "You've taken a rather peculiar interest in your Ministry's Department of Mysteries. And although you're spending most of your time in the Astronomy section as per your employer's orders, you've also been seen slipping in the one housing recorded prophecies quite a few times. Considering the protections put on these, one may wonder why somebody like you who should know better is even wasting his time looking at these orbs."

"Well, they _do_ make a pretty sight. Very relaxing."

"Stop playing dumb. We both know you're anything but that. One can only wonder… Could the sudden appearance of this 'Harry Potter', a boy who doesn't exist in any known record, and that renewed interest for prophecies be somehow linked? I do not believe in coincidences so what are you really hiding, Mesmer? Why would you take under your wing somebody so suspicious if your intentions were as harmless as you pretend? You have plans for that boy, admit it. Big plans. So what are these?"

Behind his glasses, Caecilius dazedly blinked.

He… He hadn't _once_ suspected this problem ran so deep. Yes, they had always spied on each other but his colleague shouldn't know such sensible information. There was something Rasputin was seeking. And he finally had enough of their mind games and was even willing to drop the mask to get his answer.

There were so many answers he could give and Caecilius inwardly winced at how much the other seer was most certainly Seeing him saying. There is nothing to hide, I'm just trying my best, I told you we both want the same thing… If Caecilius had been playing poker, then Rasputin had just flipped the table on him and he was that stupid boy once more, desperately searching for the last card he hadn't revealed and showing him everything else.

 _You were like a mirror, Mesmer. A little smarter than the one we had at home, but it was like you were reflecting everything I was showing you tenfold._

Caecilius froze.

A mirror.

For a moment, he couldn't think. He needed to time to digest the information he's just deduced. Finally he looked at Durmstrang Divination Professor and finally saw him for what he was for the first time.

"You're saying that," he whispered, "because that's what _you're_ doing."

And even though the man wasn't reacting in every single potential future ahead, Caecilius knew he's hit bullseye.

He left out a nervous chuckle.

That was it, wasn't it? While Caecilius had been busy dealing with a time-traveler, Rasputin has found another seer. And he had big plan for that seer, plans he didn't want the others to know about. Hence why he hadn't told anybody about that person and had began to draw back.

But he had started to become a little paranoiac. And when he had been spying on him, he had learned about Harry Potter's existence. From that point, he had started to believe that he was doing the same thing and had started obsessing about what this could potentially mean for him and his plans. Why hadn't he thought Potter could be at the guild? Because he was most certainly not going to show them this boy or girl until the proper moment and hadn't considered that if Caecilius indeed had his own plans he would take a vastly different approach.

"I suppose I should congratulate you, Rasputin," he repeated the words Durmstrang Divination Professor had said an hour ago. "There are so few of us it is always heartwarming when a seer is spotted before something happens. What is his name if I may? Or hers. We both know the odds that seer is a boy are not very high."

If looks could speak, Rasputin's would have said 'Avada Kedavra'.

It was at that precise moment that the waitress came back and, with heart in her eyes, asked the Russian whether or not he'd like a coffee. On the house.

Rasputin's eyes were on him when he answered, "Nyet."

That was alright, Caecilius thought when he received the bill. He could figure it out himself.

Also note to self: Avoid Russia for the next decade.

* * *

Mr. Evans was the first to break the silence. "It's very… modern."

"It's very green," Harry bluntly said.

In the middle of his panic in June, Harry hadn't noticed it, but the Hogwarts Express was green.

And not any green. It was a shade of green so bright that even when closing his eyes Harry could _still_ see it.

Mr. Evans looked at the train. "Well, now that you mention it… It _is_ green. Just a bit…" Quickly shaking his head, he asked, "You got everything?"

"Yes."

"Trunk? Food? Wand?"

"Yes. Yes. Yes."

"I'm asking because while I can send a dove they're not very good with carrying heavy packages and I'd rather not use a post owl."

His lips twitched. "I've got everything."

He knew he should have expected this but Harry hadn't helped feeling surprised when this morning Mr. Evans had helped him with his trunk and later taken his hat, gone to Kings' Cross and walked between Platform 9 and Platform 10. And if Mrs. Evans disliked being anywhere near the wizarding world, she still had given him food for his trip and shouted whenever she had spotted one of them looking for another of his books that Harry should have prepared his trunk the day before and that he was going to be late.

And to be honest, they were far from early.

Mr. Evans checked his watch. "You still have five minutes before the door closes on you and the Hogwarts Express leaves the station." Closing his watch, he put it in his pocket as they quickly walked to a car. "So, I suppose that is goodbye."

Harry's heart skipped a beat. Because, yes, while he knew he had to go back to Hogwarts another part of him… actually wanted to stay with them.

To think that two months ago, he wanted nothing more than to go back to Hogwarts.

"Can I..." He winced when he realized how childish he sounded.

Somehow the magician knew exactly when he intended to say. "We're actually expecting an owl from you. Not all the time of course, I know a young man your age has better things to do than writing hundreds of letters but it'd be nice to know whether or not a troll has killed you during class or if you've vanished and decided to try living in the Founders' era."

Harry tried to imagine himself in the tenth century and snorted. "I'd rather not. If I could find a way to go back to the twentieth century now…"

He was getting in the train car when he realized that it was one year ago that he's been sent in the past.

One year exactly. And he still had no clue how he was supposed to go back.

"Wait, you mean you're actually looking for a way to go back?" Mr. Evans' voice snapped him out of his thoughts. "Why didn't you tell me earlier? I would have told you how you could go back ages ago!"

"… What?"

The train whistled. Without further ceremony, Mr. Evans took Harry's trunk and gave it to him. "Work hard and try not to get into troubles. Still, try to have fun and have a good year."

"Wai-"

The door closed. And if Harry shouted, Mr. Evans didn't seem to hear him for he only grinned and began waving.

When the train started to move, Harry dropped his trunk and started running. Entering a compartment, he ignored the people within and opened the window.

And looking at the small figure in the distance, he screamed.

"I HATE YOU!"


	35. Journey on the Hogwarts Express

Harry angrily closed the window. Turning his head, he finally noticed the young children staring at him.

"What?" he snapped. "What are you looking at?"

The children startled. Quickly getting up, they took their luggage and left the compartment. When he was the only one left, Harry took his wand and after summoning his trunk moodily fell on the bench seat.

One year. He's been stuck in this century for one _exact_ year. He's spent three hundreds and sixty-five days desperately searching for a way back to his time. And _just_ as Mr. Evans had said he knew of a way to send him back and Harry could almost see a sliver of hope, he had to leave it and go back to school.

It was so unfair Harry wanted to cry.

How could this be true though? Patrick Evans wasn't a wizard, so how could he know something about time travel when no living wizard in this time did?

Crossing his arms, Harry started thinking about it a second. Finally he groaned.

Mr. Evans' father had been a clockmaker, one who had managed to build watches able to tell the future. _Of course_ that man had had studied time in depth and thinking the son had learned a thing or two from his father hardly was a difficult leap. Adding to that the fact the magician personally knew Professor Mesmer and other powerful seers, it was very likely that Patrick Evans was the closest thing this century had of an expert on time.

Harry wondered what that mean to go back to the future Patrick Evans supposedly knew about could be. Was that strange watch of his some prototype of a time turner? Could it be so simple and Harry would have been back had to played with the crown the right way? Was it some other secret he was keeping that Harry had yet to learn? If that was the case, what could it be?

Closing his eyes, Harry tried to imagine it. Mentally recalling everything that had happened this summer, he tried to see what he could have missed. What secret knowledge did his ancestor have? If he were to send him an owl tomorrow morning, would he tell him and Harry would be back to the twentieth century before he could say Quidditch? Could Harry bring him to show him and that would be it? Would be like one of his magic tricks?

His reflections got interrupted by the sound of the compartment's door opening. Opening his eyes he turned to see the person who had decided to come.

He burst to laugh when he saw the wizard was wearing plum robes. "I thought it was too bold for everyday life!"

Albus widely grinned. "Well..." he brightly began with a twinkle in his blue eyes. "I suppose any occasion can justify wearing good clothings if one tries hard enough." Sitting in front of Harry, the auburn-haired continued, "Besides, it is the last day I can wear this so I wanted to make it count and enjoy the time I can still wear sensible clothes." He lightly shrugged. "I cannot say I'm too happy about wearing our uniform once more but what can I do about it?"

"Do we really have to?" Harry wondered.

"I'm afraid so."

"Even on weekends?"

Albus paused. "Maybe something can be done during our visits at Hogsmeade but…" He seemed to think about it a moment and after a shrug smiled. "I suppose I can try. Maybe something can be done though it may be better if Headmaster Black were to never see me dressed this way."

Harry snorted at the idea of the stern man spotting Albus wearing a bright plum robe or one of his most outrageous clothes.

They didn't say anything else for a couple minutes, both just enjoying the comfortable silence. Sometimes, one of them would just look at the landscape from the train window but never for too long. Sometimes, they'd just look at each other and smile.

The silence was only broken when the trolley witch entered to ask if anybody wanted sweets.

Albus predictably reached for his pocket. "One box of Bertie Bott's beans and a chocolate frog, please. What will you take, Harry?"

"Oh, I've got food."

"So do I, but surely I can tempt you with a few sweets?"

Harry shook his head. "Sorry, I can't-" He grimaced.

While he was true Harry got a galleon in his pocket, this money was for Phineas Nigellus Black. After that paying his debt, Harry would be knutless once more so he couldn't actually spend his money on anything.

"Oh." Albus paused. Finally he brightly smiled at the trolley witch. "Two chocolate frogs and two boxes of Bertie Bott's then," he told the trolley witch. "Also, I may be tempted by a few cauldron cakes now that I think about it."

Harry raised a hand. "Oh don't-"

"No, no, I insist. Sweets are made to be shared, don't you think, ma'am?" he swiftly asked the trolley witch.

She smiled. "Of course they are."

"See? If I want to eat these delicious sweets, I have no choice but to insure you do the same if I do not want to feel guilty and let this very guilt spoil the experience. Who would be cruel enough to eat such delights in front of somebody else and not propose one himself?"

Dudley.

Harry's recollection of his cousin laughing at him while eating candies stopped when he took a closer look at the witch handing him a Pumpkin Pasty.

She… looked an awful lot like the trolley witch of his time now that he was thinking about it.

Harry silently watched her leaving the compartment. "How long do you think she's been working here?" he asked him in a murmur.

Blinking several time, Albus answered, "I've never thought about it. Quite a large oversight on my part, I must confess. Though in my defence, my eyes are more focused on the sweets than my surroundings whenever the trolley comes.

Taking his own pumpkin pasty, he snorted. "Aberforth now… You cannot imagine the tales he wove in his first year about her. I tried to assure it was just a terrible nightmare but he can be quite stubborn and refuses to eat anything sweet now." After taking a large bite, he shrugged. "Apparently, she can make these delicious pumpkin pasties explode."

* * *

Outside, somebody with a hand holding a broom was difficulty trying to climb to reach the train roof.

While his plan to just fly away was in appearance simple, it was anything but. For one, he first had to reach the outside of the train. If the door was charmed to only open when it was at a station, the same could not be said of the window and using the small gap provided to slip out without losing his hold of his broom was far from easy.

For two, he had to make sure that neither his brother nor that cursed trolley witch could spot him and foil his escape. While the wizard was pretty confident his brother was too busy stuffing himself with sweets to notice what was happening outside, that trolley witch had somehow managed to foil the six previous attempts and he'd only feel safe once he was far, far away from her.

Finally reaching the rooftop, he dropped his head and took a moment to catch his breath.

When he finally raised his head he realized that standing a few feet away from him was the trolley witch.

Ignoring the wind and the fact they were on the rooftop, she nonchalantly pushed her trolley in his direction. Once she was in front of him, she smiled, "Anything from the trolley, dear?"

The wizard horrifyingly looked at her. "How did you get here?" he whispered. "You-You shouldn't- You cannot be there!"

"Neither should you, Mr. Dumbledore."

Aberforth flinched.

She sighed. "I know the view from here is lovely but surely you can enjoy it inside just the same, no?" Handing Aberforth a pumpkin pasty, she added, "It can be very dangerous for you to stay here. Why don't you be a good boy now, take this pumpkin pasty and go back inside?"

"Expelliarmus!"

The spell hit the trolley witch's hand and the pasty she had been holding fell from the train.

Behind him, Aberforth heard the sound of an explosion.

"Hands off the trolley."

* * *

"What do you think that was?" Harry asked Albus when they heard a loud noise coming from outside.

Albus looked at the compartment door. "I'm not quite sure." Leaning on the train seat, he stated, "If we were at the other side, I could have maybe made a few educated guesses. Alas, we're not so I suppose we'll never know."

"Maybe something hit the train."

"It might be possible, though highly unlikely. There are protective charms around the train, you understand."

Seeing Albus being completely unconcerned, he murmured, "Suppose you're right."

Turning his attention back to the red-haired, he tried to change subject. "So how was your holidays?"

Albus inwardly sighed.

There was a reason why he always made a point in _not_ hasking is classmates for how their holidays had been, and it was that because he was certain he'd then be asked the same question.

While the others always had something exciting to talk about, Albus' tale always was underwhelming. While some like Elphias or Arthorius lived close by and could play Quidditch or others like Agatha or Virginia went with their respective family abroad, Albus was stuck in Godric Hollows either brooding and/or making an attempt to feed the goats when he wasn't resentfully looking at the window because no owl was coming.

Albus suddenly remembered he was supposed to be cross with the man in front of him.

"Oh I suppose I did not do much," he slowly started. Quickly recalling his list of excuses he started with, "I'm afraid I've been busy reading ahead in alchemy and writing another essay for _Transfiguration Today_. I have yet to learn if it will be published, though I have a good feeling about it." Crossing his arms, he finally said, "I must admit I've also been waiting for an owl from you. Owl that it turns out never came."

He had been several times at Madam Malkin's shop. While he always had managed to find a reason to go there, his mother had started to get suspicious. Using the excuse his sister needed new clothes, she had been to the shop to see what reason could have brought her oldest child to buy bright colourful clothes and go back there so regularly. And if Albus had been lucky his mother went there during Madam Malkin's assistant's _one_ day off, he couldn't have risked her sending Aberforth to make her a report on what he thought of 'that lovely lady' he most probably met there and had no choice but to stay on the down low.

In other words, Albus's hands had been tied and he could only from that moment send owls. Not wanting to appear too keen, he had waited for Harry to take the first step and start a correspondence with him. Step he never took.

"I don't have an owl," Harry stated.

Albus stilled.

"Well, I do. I've got Hedwig but she isn't… let's just say she isn't there. I suppose Mr. Evans has his birds but… I've had a lot of my mind so I didn't really think about it. Or writing. Sorry."

"No, no!" he hurried. "It's fine. I should have- I should have remembered you don't have an owl and was as such supposed to write first. And you were working so I suppose you had very busy days." Noticing the strange expression on his face, Albus frowned. "Did you do anything besides working at Madam Malkin's shop?"

* * *

At the innocent question, Harry paused, not quite knowing where to start.

"Well, I've been helping Mr. Evans with his work. Mr. Evans is a relative of mine," he elaborated before frowning.

It felt strange to say he had a proper family. One Harry could freely talk about without feeling embarrassed or feeling like he shouldn't talk about them.

Harry wondered if he would ever get used to that feeling.

Dazedly shaking his head, he continued, "So after work, I'd go help him make his vanishing cabinet."

A spark of interest lit the red-haired boy's blue eyes. "A vanishing cabinet, you say?" he innocently murmured. "My fa- I know a thing or two on wizarding crafting so I know how precise one must be for that sort of artefacts. You must have been taught complex magic if you had to make a vanishing cabinet."

It took Harry a moment to understand why the boy was saying that. When he did, his lips turned upward. "I suppose. Mr. Evans taught me a few of his tricks on how to make a good vanishing cabinet but also a few more things." Seeing the other boy was captivated by what he was saying, he innocently added, "Wandless magic for example."

As expected, the boy in front of him moved closer to the edge of his seat and breathed, "Wandless magic? I thought it was nigh impossible! Or at the very least too rough to be used in everyday's life, let alone for such craft. How does that work?"

"Do you want me to show you?"

Albus vividly nodded.

"Alright then." After reviewing what he could realistically do, he retrieved the scarlet handkerchief in his breast pocket. "Just watch."

Albus intendly looked at his tissue.

Taking advantage of the other boy focusing on it, Harry retrieved what he had kept in his sleeve and did as Mr. Evans had showed him the day before.

When the flower appeared from the scarlet tissue, Albus drew back.

Harry barely managed to stay in character as he was looking at these blue eyes dazedly blinking. When he spotted the _exact_ moment the red-haired realized what had truly happened, he couldn't stop himself from giving him a proud grin.

At the sight of his smile, Albus suddenly burst to laugh.

Between two laughing fits, Albus managed to say, "Well it _is_ wandless magic!"

Harry laughed and put the handkerchief back to his breast pocket, feeling oddly proud of himself.

"And how does it work?" Albus leant even more on the edge of the train seat. "How did you do it? The rose was in your sleeve, right?"

Harry faked a sigh and looked away. "I'm not supposed to say."

"Please?"

"Now that I think about it, isn't there some statute of secrecy on this? I'm pretty sure there is."

"Pretty please?"

From the corner of his eyes, Harry looked at his friend.

Seeing the other boy was now pouting, he chuckled. "Don't tell anybody I showed you."

Albus vividly nodded.

"Alright then," he started, "first you've got to do this…"

* * *

On the train roof, the trolley witch sadly looked at Aberforth.

"You could have just told me you didn't want my pumpkin pasty," she said. "You didn't have to throw the trolley out of the train. What did these sweets even do to you?"

Aberforth gasped for breath. "Sugar makes your teeth rot."

The trolley witch pensively nodded. "That is true, I suppose. From a certain point of view you're not wrong, but there is a reason why muggles invented toothbrushes and we have Toth's mouth bath. Sweets also have many qualities. For example, it brings people together. Think about it: two young boys are on a train. They are both wondering if they will fit in that new school their parents send them to, some of them even going to an outright new _world_. They're both rightfully worried but there is a box of Bertie Bott's beans between them and they can't help opening it and eating a few. And suddenly, they're two friends laughing at the flavours they get and looking forward to this new adventure they're going to face together. In light of that, the good outweighs the bad by far, no?"

Aberforth glared at her.

"Think about it. Wouldn't you prefer be enjoying your ride with your friends and having a good time instead of attempting to leave this train every time you have to go back to Hogwarts?"

"No."

The trolley witch didn't say anything for moment. Finally she raised her head. "I'm sure you miss home, but it isn't good to look behind the way you do. You should be looking forward to this new year instead and allow yourself to open up to people over two chocolate frogs and a good game of exploding snap. So please, go back to your train compartment. For your own good."

For a second, Aberforth considered it. He considered going back and finding either his brother or his housemates and bitching about having to endure Prince this year again or awaiting the moment Albus would find a Bertie Bott's bean he didn't like and make that constipated face that always made him snicker.

It was only for a second though. The next one, he pointed his wand at the trolley witch. "I can't stay there," he informed her, "and school is really not for me. So I'm leaving."

"No, you're not."

* * *

"Like this then?" Albus asked as he took the rose Harry had given him from his sleeve.

"Like that."

As he took the hand of man next to him and showed him how to do the trick, Harry couldn't help thinking it was funny how clumsy Albus Dumbledore could be sometimes. A genius like him, Harry would have thought he would be able to do it as soon as Harry had explained it.

He supposed even Albus Dumbledore was allowed to be bad at magic once or twice.

"Ah yes, like that," Albus absent-mindedly murmured as he looked at their joined hand. "Makes more sense."

Harry followed his gaze and paused when he saw their hands around a red rose.

Quickly taking his hand off, he tried a smile and uncomfortably coughed. "Try again."

Something passed over Albus' face. Before Harry could figure what it was, it was gone. "Very well then. Here I go."

He did it perfectly.

Harry beamed. "Congratulation! You can do wandless magic now."

Albus' lips twitched. "I've got a good teacher." With a low chuckle, he put the flower in his sleeve. "If I can be honest a second, I've never thought much of prestidigitation before. Sure, it is admirable how muggles attempt to imitate what we wizards can do but I cannot help feeling sorry for them at the thought they will never see the real thing. But you know what? It was fun."

Turning to him, the Gryffindor showed him the red napkin. Before Harry could blink, there suddenly was a red rose in his hand.

"There you go." With a soft smile, he presented him the flower. "For you."

Harry paused and numbly looking at the red rose the other boy was offering, not quite knowing what to do.

"You-" he stuttered and looked away. "You don't have to."

"It's your flower," he heard the other boy pointing out.

"Well, you can keep it."

"Harry."

"What?" Sharply turning his head, he looked at these deep blue eyes. Suddenly tongue-tied, he winced.

It seemed like he wasn't the only one feeling awkward thankfully. Biting his lower lip, Albus hesitated. Leaning forward, he murmured, "Harry, I-"

The door to their compartment opened.

The two boys startled and rushed to put as much distance between them as they could.

"There he is!" Harry heard Elphias Doge's voice exclaiming. "And Potter is here too."

Albus blankly looked at the wizard by the door. "Elphias," he just stated.

Entering the compartment, the blonde wizard greeted Harry, "Hello Potter. How were your holidays?"

"F-Fine, I guess," he replied as he saw behind the blonde wizard Virginia Selwyn.

"We were getting worried," Elphias answered Harry's unasked question. "Albus told us he was going to check the compartments and greet the younger students but as he wasn't coming back we were starting to think maybe something happened."

"Elphias."

He ignored the interruption. "Still, I'm happy to see you didn't miss the train. Albus was really worried you know? He didn't say anything of course but it was clear he was. At the platform, he kept looking for you so I had to drag him-"

" _Elphias."_

Elphias turned his head and paused at the sight the red-haired who was now giving him a strange smile. "Why don't you join us at the back of the train?" he proposed. "Everybody in our year is here. Sure, it's a little crowded but there should be enough place for you and trunk."

Harry sighed and got up. "Sure. If you say everybody's here."

"That reminds me, have you seen your brother, Albus? We didn't find him on our way here. If I didn't know better, I'd say he wasn't there."

"He is. Believe me, I made sure he couldn't miss the train. He's probably just sulking somewhere we can't find him as we speak."

* * *

On the train's rooftop, Aberforth took a step back.

"Three years…" the trolley witch mumured. "For three years you've tried every September and every January to leave this train. Do you honestly believe seven times is going to be the charm? You may think you're being bold and smart, you're far from the first one who's tried to leave the Hogwarts express nor will you be the last."

She didn't have her trolley anymore, Aberforth tried to reassure himself. If he didn't want to go that far, he could curse her if she were to reach for her wand. He had the advantage there.

"Since Ottaline Gambol inaugurated this train and gave me this job, I've made sure everybody was happy and had a good time during the travel. Never- never- Never have I let anyone off this train before they reached their destination. Oh, many have tried to escape. That's true. But you know how many failed doing what you're trying to do?"

And in front of Aberforth's horrified eyes, the trolley witch's hand turned into long and sharp spikes.

"ALL OF THEM. ALL HAVE FAILED. YOU HAVE FAILED AND YOU WILL FAIL AGAIN. BECAUSE THIS TRAIN... IT DOESN'T LIKE PEOPLE GETTING OFF IT."

Aberforth loudly swore and ran away. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the trolley witch running at an impressive speed.

Remembering the broom in his left hand, he unceremoniously mounted it, praying for it to work.

The trolley witch's spikes were touching his red hair when he finally took off.

Once he was a few feet above the train, he looked at the trolley witch on the train rooftop.

Finally he laughed.

 _He's done it!_

He's done it. He's escaped this hell and could now go home. Sure, his mother was going to be cross with him, but he was sure she was going realize in time that it was better this way. His mother wouldn't have to deal with all the problems at home alone, his sister wouldn't have to be alone yet another year and his brother wouldn't have to feel so embarrassed whenever he'd see him.

 _Time to go home now._

As he was about to turn and leave, Aberforth noticed the trolley witch kneeling.

She jumped.

And under his horrified eyes, the trolley witch began flying in his direction, her spikes gleaming in the sun.

He screamed.

* * *

When Albus and the others went back to the compartment, Virginia sat next to Harry.

Playing with a strand of her flaming red hairs, she asked the Gryffindor, "So how was you holidays, Potter? Did you do anything? Besides working at Madam Malkin's' shop and trying to look at witches' ankles that is," she added with a sly smile.

Harry spluttered, face turning crimson. "It was an accident."

"I'm sure it was."

"Wait, what?" Artorius sharply turned his head. "You did what, Potter?"

Harry groaned and hid his face in his hands when Virginia started explaining.

Albus supposed it should be expected that everybody knew Harry had been working at Madam Malkin's' shop. It was where every student went to buy their uniform after all and Harry had naturally had to fit their clothes to their size. And if it seemed like he had done well most of the time, his spell had gone a little haywire when he's had to fit Virginia's robe and it had shortened it to a point everybody has had a good look at her ankles.

It had naturally provoqued quite an incident in the shop.

"It was an accident!" the apprentice tailor exclaimed when everybody started giving him judgemental looks.

"I believe you," Virginia reassured him and softly patted his leg.

Albus blankly looked at her. "Virginia..."

"What?" Flipping her flaming red hair, she gave him a sweet smile. "Jealous, Albus?"

It took him all his efforts to smile.

"Frankly, seeing everybody so shocked and running in all sense to cover my 'dignity' was the most fun I've had this summer", she continued. "It's just ankles. There's no reason to make such a scene because of a little accident." Turning to Harry, she asked in a sweet voice, "Don't you agree?"

Face crimson, the young man vividly nodded.

Before he could do anything, Albus heard the door abruptly opening.

And under everybody's incredulous eyes, a shaking Aberforth who seemed to have been at the wrong end of a fight entered the compartment. In a very small voice, his little brother murmured, "Albus."

Albus immediately got up. "What happened." When his brother didn't answer and started shaking, he demanded, "Who did this to you?"

"You-" he difficulty swallowed. "You've got to hide me."

"It's the Slytherins, isn't it?"

Albus knew he was part of of the reason why Slytherins liked picking on his brother. And though it always pained him, he couldn't interfere as much as he wished. Not only wouldn't Aberforth let him, he had no illusion they were doing this to have his attention and giving them just that would only make things worse.

But if they refused to listen to reason…

Aberforth weakly shook his head. "The-The…

"Yes?" he urged. "Who did this, Aberforth?"

"The-the-"

"The?"

"The trolley witch is an automaton."

Albus dazedly blinked. "The trolley witch," he numbly repeated. "The trolley witch is an automaton."

"Yes!" Sharply raising his head he looked at the people in the compartment and exclaimed, "The trolley witch is not, in fact, a witch! She's not even human! The trolley witch is an automaton! She's an automaton just like dad's-"

"Where do you even get such idea, Aberforth?" Albus incredulously exclaimed. "It- What makes you think this lovely woman is an automaton? It makes no sense."

"Yes, it does!" With a strange fire in his eyes, he proclaimed, "It explains everything, in fact. Has anybody ever wondered why nobody's ever seen a controller here?" Not waiting for an answer he fervently answered his own question, "That's because _she's_ the controller. She comes in the compartment and feels the magic of the ticket in our pockets. That being done, she offers sweets but don't be fooled! She's an automaton the station created to insure we behave and to protect the train. _That's why_ the sweets she makes explode!"

Albus sighed. "Oh Aberforth." Not that silly story again.

"These bloody sweets!" he screamed. "They're not here for no reason! She's trying to keep everybody complacent! Make sure we stay put, it's the carrot she hangs in front of us so we do as we're told!"

"Why don't you sit down?" Taking his little brother by the shoulders, he softly made him sit on his seat.

"We've got to warn everybody!" Giving Albus a pleading look, he begged, "You've got to tell everybody we're all in grave danger. If her programming ever goes wrong and she makes all the sweets the students ate explode..."

"Yes, yes. I'll tell everybody. Just… stay here, will you? I'll go- I'll go warn the driver."

There was something very young in his little brother's eyes. "Be careful."

"I will be. I'll even go with Virginia if that makes you feel better."

Virginia blankly looked at him. "Why?"

Because that way he could keep an eye on her. "We're both prefects," he reminded her. "Isn't it our common duty to check what my brother said?"

With a sigh, she got up. "Fine, fine. I'll go with you."

"We're going to check. You just… You just rest, Aberforth."

Aberforth shakily nodded.

Once Albus had closed the door's compartment behind him, he sighed.

"You don't actually believe him, do you?"

"I believe he believes what he told me," he answered her. "Did he have a terrible nightmare? That is possible. It is most probably what happened, in fact, but it doesn't hurt to check. Also, I need to talk with the new Headboy and apologize to him for missing the meeting."

She rolled her eyes. "Frankly, you didn't miss much. It was so boring I almost fell asleep once or twice. I hope you'll make next year's meeting a little more lively when you become Headboy," she said as they headed to the front of the train.

Albus gave her a well-practiced smile. "I'm flattered you think I will become Headboy."

She unceremoniously snorted. "Oh please. Don't do the fake modesty thing on me. The way you're handling everything and with marks like yours, _everybody_ knows you will be headboy."

"I hope you're right then. Personally, I like to remind myself that this might not happen in order not to be disappointed if I weren't to be chosen."

The thing was, Albus was pretty sure he was _not_ going to become Headboy.

Yes, on paper Albus Dumbledore was a good candidate. If he could allow himself to boast a little, Albus was of the mind he was in his year the one who deserved the position the most.

Problem was, if teachers proposed the name of those they deemed worthy, it was ultimately _Headmaster Black_ who decided who got the badge.

Needless to say, Headmaster Black wasn't very fond of him. It was regrettable, truly. Ever since Albus had demonstrated on an article on astronomy that a few calculations the former Astronomy professor had made several years ago were wrong, the older man had made it clear he didn't like having a twelve years old show everybody he's made a mistake in his preferred field and would want nothing more but to take him down a peg or two.

Adding to that the fact that Albus was not a pureblood and was in the same year as his second child, he was ready to bet his wand that it'd be Phineas Black Junior who'd become Headboy, if only because of who his father was.

There was something incredibly unfair about it all. About living in a world where your birth decided your place in the world and no incredible feat of magic could change it. At the end of the day, he'd always be 'just' a half-blood and people with less skills than he will get the position he was seeking because he happened to be born in the 'right' family.

As Albus went to ask the conductor when they were going to arrive, he couldn't help daydreaming about living in a world when there was no such thing as purebloods, halfbloods and muggleborns. One when those who were the most gifted got the place they deserved and could help leading their world to a better place.

* * *

When the train stopped, Harry loudly sighed and got up.

Unlike the other times Harry had taken the Hogwarts Express, Harry wasn't particularly looking forward to the Welcoming feast and the new year. He knew he should be but he just couldn't. So what if he was _finally_ going to learn something new and even try his luck at alchemy? He's been stuck here for an entire year and, if Mr. Evans' words were to be trusted, he could go back to his time right now if he wasn't stuck here.

As Albus and the other Gryffindors walked ahead, Harry walked at a slower pace next to a brooding Aberforth.

As Albus had declared he hadn't seen anything suspicious and the driver had been baffled at the Fourth Year's story, it had been decided he's just had a terrible nightmare. Needless to say, Aberforth hadn't liked this conclusion _at all._

"So… how was your holidays?" Harry tried making conversation.

From the corner of his eyes, the younger boy suspiciously looked at him. After a few seconds, he carefully answered, "Good, I guess. A bit weird but good."

"Weird in what way?"

"My brother started dressing like a clown."

"He does not dress like a clown!" Harry violently protested.

"You say that because you made him buy that shit." He snorted. "You should have seen our mother's face when he came back wearing purple. At least _some_ had a good laugh. Can't say the same about me, sadly."

"Why?" he wondered as they were getting into the carriage led by a thersal.

His face darkened. "Who do you think is going to wear these horrors when he outgrows them?"

Harry numbly looked at the boy sitting in front of him, suddenly realizing he hadn't seen the Fourth Year in the clothing shop _once_.

Harry tilted his head and tried to imagine the wizard in front of him wearing Albus' new clothes. He tried to imagine Aberforth in two years wearing his brother's beloved plum robe. Or the blue nightdress with neon yellows bees flying on the tissue.

He burst to laugh.

"That's not funny!" he shrieked, cheeks red in embarrassment.

But no matter how hard Aberforth tried to make him stop laughing, Harry just couldn't.

It was a shame he'd be gone when Aberforth would have no choice but to wear that plum robe, he thought. If the clothes somehow fitted the older brother, he was pretty sure the younger sibling wouldn't quite manage to pull it off.

* * *

"I wonder what alchemy will be like," Elphias mused as the horseless carriage were leading them to the castle. "What do you think our teacher is going to be like, Albus?"

"While I do not know who is going to teach us, I think it is safe to assume that person is going to be a distinguished wizard of a certain age with an extended knowledge on potion, charm and philosophy. Have you started reading _The Book of t_ he _Hieroglyphic_ _Figures_?" Seeing the other boy nodding, he breathed, "Fascinating, isn't it?"

"That's not how I'd call it, really," he mumbled. "I suppose we'll find out soon enough. I can only hope I'm not going to be too terrible at it and that the teacher isn't remotely going to be like Prince. Sorry, _Professor_ Prince."

Before Albus could reassure him, the carriage stopped. With a big smile, Albus opened the door of the carriage and left.

When Albus Dumbledore saw the castle whose windows were sparkling in the starry sky, his heart skipped a beat and he couldn't stop a soft smile.

He didn't think he'd ever tire of the view. He could watch Hogwarts every day for an entire century, he had no doubt that he'd enjoy the sight of that magnificent castle just as much as the first time he had seen it at eleven. With a wide grin, he started walking with Elphias in the direction of the oak front door, already looking forward to this new year.

After two months stuck at Godric Hollows, Albus was home again.


	36. A brand new year

On the second of September, Harry and the other Sixth Year remained in their places after breakfast, awaiting Professor Dippet's descent from the staff table. The distribution of class schedules was more complicated than usual, for the deputy headmaster needed first to confirm everybody had achieved the necessary O.W.L. grades to continue their chosen N.E.W.T.s.

To nobody's surprise, Albus had elected to continue almost every subject he's been studying the five previous years and had merely dropped History of magic to replace it with Alchemy.

"You're going to be very busy," Professor Dippet remarked as he charmed the prefect's timetable. "I know you work hard, but my colleagues and I expect our students to do a lot of work outside class. I hope it's not going to be too much for you."

Albus amiably smiled. "Duly noted, sir."

When it finally was his turn, Harry told the Deputy Headmaster he wanted to take Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Transfiguration, Potion, Divination and Alchemy.

"As I told Mr. Dumbledore, you're going to be very busy if you take so many classes. I've heard from your Head of house that you wanted to become an Auror. Are you really sure you want to pursue Divination and Alchemy when these courses will have little relevance for your chosen career?"

"Certain."

While it now appeared there was a way to leave this century, Harry didn't want to take any risk and drop Divination too soon. If he wanted Professor Mesmer to keep helping him, he needed to take his class. Also, Albus had strongly implied the year before that Alchemy had many hidden depths so it might just be possible he'd find something new on time travel. As he's come empty handed with the regular magical courses, he couldn't ignore it.

Still, he couldn't stop a wince at the sight of his timetable. Considering he also had to take into account Quidditch trainings, Harry knew that finding time to study time travel this year was going to be nigh impossible.

"Before I forget," Professor Dippet remarked, "the Headmaster asked me to tell you that you are expected in his office after class. He said you should know why."

Harry sighed. "I do."

As expected, Phineas Nigellus Black hadn't forgotten Harry owed Hogwarts money. And it seemed that it was now time to pay his debt.

Once the older wizard left the Gryffindor table, Albus raised an eyebrow.

"It's nothing," Harry reassured him. "Just- I just need to give him something. It'll only take a minute."

Checking his timetable once more, he noticed his first class of the year was Defense Against the Dark Arts. Stuffing the timetable in his pocket, he took his bag and got up.

He wondered what sort of person the Defense teacher was going to be this year.

* * *

"Good morning class," Professor Merrythought greeted the Sixth Year students. "First thing first, I want to congratulate you for your excellent marks in Defense Against the Dark Arts as you-"

" _Wait, you're still here?"_

Professor Merrythought paused. Looking in the direction of the scream, she tilted her head and in a confused voice wondered, "Why wouldn't I be?"

Harry gaped.

After a long pause, Professor Merrythought went back to her speech. "As I said, congratulation to all of you. If you are here today, it is because you have all proved that you have solid basis in Defense Against the Dark Arts and can now handle low to mid-level threats. Now that you've decided to prepare your Nastily Exhausting Tests, your other teachers and I expect you to go beyond what you were taught for five years and-"

Albus softly pocked the boy next to him and whispered. "You okay?"

Harry slowly turned his head in his direction. "I've never had a Defense teacher that lasted more than a year," he stated in a small voice.

Albus drew back at these words. "Well… It's a good thing she's still here, no?" he tried. "Professor Merrythought is an excellent teacher, don't you think?"

"You're _really_ sure it's her?"

Albus paused. "Well… yes?"

Harry blankly looked at him for a few uncomfortable seconds. Finally, he turned his head and suspiciously looked at their teacher.

"I should warn you: the curriculum in Defence Against the Dark Arts is so vast it will be impossible for us to study everything in class and if you want to be ready for your examinations, you will have no choice but to study several subjects on your own," Albus head Professor Merrythought telling the class. Retrieving from her satchel a pile of parchments, she handed it to the students in the front row who began distributing what she had given them.

When Albus looked at what appeared to be this year's curriculum, even he couldn't stop a wince.

"Considering my colleagues will tell you the same thing in their respective subjects, I strongly encourage you to give your very best immediately because you will be unable to have a passing mark were you to start studying seriously a month before the end of the year like some of you probably have in the past. Still, were you to have any question, my colleagues and myself will be more than ready to answer them and lend you a hand. As this is going to be the first time for many of you to work independently, I have decided to try something that should help you. This year, I will not ask you to hand me homework."

There were a few relieved sighs.

"What I will ask however, is for you to hand me at the end of the year something approaching a research project. Now, this will represent your _only_ marked work so I advise you to treat it seriously."

That made him turn his head. "A research project, Professor?" Seeing her look at being interrupted, he sheepishly raised his hand. When she finally allowed him to talk, he asked, "May we know which subject you want us to study?"

"I'll let you decide," she answered him. "The goal is for you to research and study in depth something you're interested in, and to potentially go further than what you may find in the library. Of course if you still have no idea by October, I suppose I can give you a few ideas. At the end of the year, you will present hand me your project before presenting your work to the rest of the class so that you can benefit from everybody's work."

Albus beamed.

This wasn't that different from what he's been doing in his free time. Only it was now an actual research project, one he would have an entire year to study in depth and not just a few thoughts put on paper. Already he could see himself searching the library for something exciting, or testing yet another spell to see how far he could go until something strange happened. Perhaps he would even discover something utterly new and Professor Merrythought would be so impressed that project of his would be sent to _Defense and the Dark arts_.

And this time, it wouldn't be Albus Dumbledore, child genius, who would send it. No, it would be Albus Dumbledore, researcher.

He might even get a real prize for this. Not one of those which was given to to what they called 'promising youth', it would be one they gave to actual researchers. It would be one that said they were finally seeing you as their equal and not some talented kid they just needed to pat on the back while the camera was on them before leaving without a word once the journalist was gone.

And who knew? Perhaps Albus would find something utterly groundbreaking and he would also get a chocolate frog card for this discovery.

While Albus was considering what he was going to ask them to write on the back of his future chocolate frog card, Professor Merrythought continued, "I know that some of you will find this a little boring. It will ask you to put a lot of work into it and this sort of work can be very stressing. This is why I believe it would be better if you do it in groups of two."

From the corner of his eyes, Albus looked at Harry, who was still looking at Professor Merrythought in suspicion.

The Gryffindor was excellent at Defence, he thought. And the two of them got along quite fine, even if the boy could sometimes be rather queer. Still, it wouldn't be bothersome if they were to spend more time together. No, it wouldn't be bothersome at all. The wizard could even be could be an invaluable help in his research and perhaps they would compare notes over a nice cuppa in Hogsmeade. And maybe over a conversation they could talk about other things a little more personal and just like that they would-

"-Albus?"

Albus forced himself to snap out of his reflections and turned his head to his left. "Yes?"

Elphias grinned. "Great. I'm looking forward to it."

… Apparently, Albus's just agreed to do something.

A little legimency probing informed him that while he had been busy daydreaming, Elphias had asked him if he wanted to partner with him for this research project. And Albus has just said yes.

That was fine, he thought. It wasn't as if he was disappointed or anything.

* * *

When Harry left the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, he sent one last suspicious look to Professor Merrythought.

If that person really was Professor Merrythought.

Albus sighed. "Is it that surprising for you that a good teacher stays for more than a year?"

"You'll understand one day."

That reminded him, Harry had yet to tell the other boy he was from a future where the other wizard was forced every year to find somebody stupid enough to accept a cursed job.

The auburn-haired blankly looked at him. Finally, he closed his eyes and softly shook his head. Without saying anything, the boy started heading to Transfiguration.

Harry promptly followed.

Considering it's literally been a year since he's been in the past, Harry guessed there was no rush in telling him at this point.

* * *

Sixth Year, it turned out, was a lot more difficult than Fifth Year.

In Potions, Professor Prince asked his students to brew a Draught of Living Death. And if Albus as always perfectly succeeded on his first try, Harry's looked more like liquid licorice.

"The Draught of the Living Death is a very complex potion to brew," Albus tried to console him after Potions. "I believe in fact that Professor Prince gave us a potion nigh impossible to make at our level so that we can see how far we still have to go."

He shrugged. "If you say so."

"I know so. You just- You just need to work harder than ever."

But the more classes they had, the more Harry realized he had to work 'harder' at basically everything.

The days everybody thought he was some sort of genius, Harry thought as his latest attempt at casting the aguamenti charm failed once more, were definitely over.

* * *

It was an exhausted Harry who climbed the stairs of the Divination Tower for his last lesson of the day.

He had no idea what Professor Mesmer was planning to teach them as there had been no textbook in his list but he sure as hell hoped he wouldn't give as much homework as Prince.

When Harry entered the classroom, he stopped.

The divination classroom has always been the oddest classroom in the school. In the twentieth century for example, Professor Trelawney's many lamps she had draped with dark red scarves and the smell of incense had often given him the impression he was in a gypsy-wagon. Professor Mesmer on the other hand had elected to favour natural sunlight and had put numerous paintings of eyes that would spy on unsuspecting students.

But there now was a new artefact in the room that was holding the attention of the painted eyes.

It was a mirror. More precisely, a large tilting dressing mirror was standing in the middle of the room, as if it was a magical artefact of great importance. For a second, Harry even thought this mirror was the mirror of Erised.

But when Harry walked to the mirror and looked at his reflection, his parents didn't appear to give him encouraging smiles, nor did his reflection start talking back.

Unlike the one he had found one night in a disaffected classroom, this mirror seemed to be just an ordinary mirror.

Harry wondered where the mirror of Erised could be in this time.

In the reflected surface, Harry saw Phineas Black entering the room.

After closing the door, the Slytherin walked in his direction to stand next to him. Looking at their reflection, he hummed, "Looks like a regular mirror to me. You think this is related to what Professor wants to teach us?"

"No clue." Finally tearing his eyes from the mirror, he turned to the boy. "Where are the others?" he wondered.

And Black gave Harry _a look_.

"Potter, you and I are Professor Mesmer's _only_ Sixth Year students."

* * *

"Good morning, class," Professor Mesmer greeted them when he finally came with a large pile of books. "I hope you all had very pleasant holidays." After putting the books on his desk he turned to them. "First thing first, I've been told congratulations were expected when one was teaching Sixth Year students. So I suppose I should start with congratulating myself for finally having a Sixth Year class to teach and getting the subsequent salary raise that comes with it. That was well-played if I may boast a little."

Black closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "You're supposed to congratulate _us_ , sir."

"Well, that doesn't make much sense. I'm the one who did all the hard work here." Seeing the Slytherin's unimpressed look, he rolled his eyes. "Fine, fine. Mr. Potter, congratulation for mentally torturing a poor pregnant woman; Mr. Black, congratulation for stalking your examiner for an entire week and setting in motions several incidents you _just_ happened to have predicted. I'm sure the two of you are very proud of yourself."

The two students uncomfortably shifted on their chair.

"I wasn't going to mention it but if that's how it works, congratulation to the two of you for being terrible people."

After a long pause, Black replied, "Congratulation on your raise, sir."

"Why, thank you." He clapped his hands. "Now that this part is done, let's talk about why the two of you are here: for three years, you have both learned to predict the future by reading tea leaves, the palm of a hand even even by crystal gazing. All in all, you've learned nothing."

At the sight of their face, the seer shrugged. "These are just tools, and not even the most powerful ones we've got. Don't get me wrong, they've got their uses but they are just the compass you are going to use to see the future. And any sailor will tell you that while it is damn vital to know how to read the map, it takes more than that to bring a boat to its destination. As you've decided to navigate the flow of time, it is time for the two of you to learn _why_ what little you were taught works, what to do when you're not sure about which path to take, and what you may be facing on your journey. We're about to study in depth one of the most obscure branches of magic, so I should warn you that you may just lose your sanity if you're not careful and stare into the abyss too long. Any question so far?"

 _Very_ slowly, Black his hand. Once their professor allowed him to talk, the Slytherin took a deep breath, as if bracing himself. "May we- May we know why there is now a mirror in your classroom, sir? Is it related to what you're actually going to teach us?"

"What, that?" He turned his attention to the artefact in the middle of the room. "No, this is for me. I've realized something during the holidays and am now attempting to see if I can discover the answer to divination greatest mysteries if I stare at my reflection long enough."

Some people, Harry thought, have definitely stared into the abyss too long.

* * *

After their lesson, Professor Mesmer handed the two of them the pile of books he's come with.

"I want the two of you to have finished reading them for the end of the month."

While Black took a heavy grimoire on astrology with a long-suffering, Harry looked at the title of the nearest book. "Professor, this book is about arithmancy, not divination."

"Arithmancy," Professor Mesmer said, "has two greek roots. The first one is arithmos which means number ; the second one now is manteia which, surprisingly, means divination. Chiromancy, pallomancy, arithmancy… Anything finishing with the suffix -mancy belong to the large family of divination arts. Arithmancy is the art of divining the future by the usage of numbers. I teach divination, therefore I _also_ teach arithmancy. The class your classmates take is merely a watered down version of divination as Professor Scalaria is teaching not even a tenth of what I do."

Black's eyes widened in realization. "So _that's why_ she hates you."

Mesmer hesitated. "It's not just that but it sure doesn't help. You two have a month to catch up. Come September, I will consider you've got the same level as any student who sat Arithmancy for their Ordinary Wizarding Levels." Seeing Harry's wince, he shrugged. "The 'Exhausting' in Nastily Exhausting Levels Test is here for a reason. We only have two years, and we need to do twice the work you two have done in five. So brace yourselves, because even without my third eye, I can see the two of you are going to have a _very_ tiring year."

Harry sighed and wordlessly took the arithmancy book. Once he and Black decided who was taking what, he remembered he was supposed to go to the Headmaster's office.

Suddenly realizing he had no idea what the password was, he asked Black, "Sorry, do you know the password to your dad's office?"

Black blinked. "You mean Professor Dippet didn't tell you?"

"Dippet is always a little air-headed," Mesmer commented as he was closing the curtains. "Believe me, there is a reason why Professor Black is always after him."

"It's Bellatrix." Seeing Harry's face he shrugged. "My father always uses the name of a star for his passwords." Checking his pocket watch, he winced. "You should hurry up, because if you're already late."

"And don't worry too much. After the first thirty minutes, you stop feeling anything and it becomes even relaxing past the second hour."

"What does?'

But the man never answered.

* * *

"Bellatrix."

Harry sighed as the gargoyle moved to reveal the door leading to the Headmaster's office. After attempting to flatten his unruly hair one last time, he took a deep breath and knocked.

"Enter," he heard.

Harry opened the door and entered the Headmaster office.

Like the last time Harry's been here, Phineas Nigellus Black was sitting in his armchair, hands crossed. "You're late," the man informed him. "You're _very_ late."

"My apologies, sir. My class of the day was divination and Professor Mesmer's-"

"Say no more." The other man shook his head and sighed. "I will have a talk with him later on this specific subject. Again." Turning his dark eyes in his direction, he said, "I hope for you that you know why I called you here."

"I do."

Walking in the man's direction, he started searching his pockets. Once he found his galleon, he put the coin on the table between them.

"Thank you for your patience, sir."

Harry knew the wizard in front of him could have asked him to pay back the money Hogwarts' given him at any time. While he couldn't have found a mean to pay back until the holidays, he was aware the stern man could have harassed him at any time had he so wished.

Phineas Nigellus Black glanced at the coin on the table. Retrieving his wand, he put it on the galleon which emitted a golden glow.

"It appears that this galleon is genuine," he finally declared. "So I suppose that this is satisfying for the time being."

When Harry heard these words, he couldn't stop a relieved sigh and felt like an enormous weight had just been lifted off his shoulder.

And then he actually thought about what the man's just said.

"What do you mean by 'for the time being'?"

"Why do you mean by 'for the time being', _sir_ ,"' Phineas Nigellus Black sharply corrected. "Well, you have yet to pay the interest, don't you?"

The world came to a sudden halt. "What interest?"

Talking to Harry like one would a not very bright kid, he explained, "You received money from our school. Money you spent for your personal uses while Hogwarts had to make without. The school _doesn't_ give money away for no reason and we are not your mother you're borrowing money from. In the real world, what you received from us is called a loan. And Hogwarts is perfectly within its right to ask you for interests. As you paid back the galleon you were given, I suppose I can allow you to pay the interest until next year. But that truly is the last time I am going be this lenient and-"

" _Lenient_?" Harry spluttered, "Y-You never said anything about interests! You-You-"

"You haven't tried to pay Hogwarts back for an entire school year," Phineas Nigellus Black countered, "nor have you made any attempt to discuss when and how you were expected to do so. Did you honestly believe I was going to let you pay me back whenever you felt like it on my good heart? It could have taken you a century, as far as I knew."

… If Harry was being honest a second, that was exactly what he had hoped would happen and it was only the fact he was still stuck here that had stopped him from running away without paying anything.

Still, it was so unfair Harry wanted to scream. He had paid the man back as soon as he had been able to. Shouldn't that be enough? More than that, that money had first been given to him and _now_ the man wanted to earn money on his back?

"You have until the first of September of the next year to finish paying Hogwarts back," he concluded. "Is that understood?"

Harry gritted his teeth.

"Is that understood?" he repeated.

"… Yes."

"Yes, sir."

"There's no need to call me 'sir', Headmaster."


End file.
